


birds of a flower

by afancyghost



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25703056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afancyghost/pseuds/afancyghost
Summary: “So. You sure do know a lot about plants, huh?”It’s quite possibly the stupidest thing to come out of his mouth, and he doesn’t need Akaashi’s little huffed laugh to tell him that. His cheeks are flushing red before Akaashi even gets done saying, “I should hope so, considering I own a flower shop.”“I — well, yeah. I meant that you know a lot about their meanings and stuff,” Bokuto amends. “I knew that roses were for love, but I didn’t really think about other flowers having deep meanings.”“You’d be surprised how much you can communicate with flowers alone,” Akaashi says. “It’s helpful for when you can’t find the right words yourself. Might as well let nature take a stab at it.”(or, Akaashi owns a flower shop and Bokuto is his most loyal customer)
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 35
Kudos: 251
Collections: Bokuaka Week 2020, My favorite haikyuu fics





	birds of a flower

**Author's Note:**

> howdy! first time writing bokuaka and it was supposed to be a short and sweet 8k fic and spiraled into whatever the hell this is. but hey, hopefully it's fun and enjoyable!
> 
> this is for bokuaka week 2020, day 3: florist au. i am, of course, late as always. my bad.
> 
> also, i know shit all about flowers/plants and have a terrible design sense!!! so im sure absolutely everything in this fic will be incorrect, as i mainly relied on google and the single time i went to a flower shop like three years ago. that is also my bad. just pretend that it all makes sense, ok?
> 
> ANYWAYS, i'll stop talking now. enjoy!!

Bokuto knows just from the look on her face that he messed up big time. The slam of the door in his face is just the nail in the coffin. Her disdain is so clear, in fact, that he doesn’t even bother to knock again or call out her name or beg her to let him in. Previous experience tells him that that’s about the worst thing he can do right now.

So, instead, he shoves his hands in his pockets, turns around, and heads back towards home. He considers texting Kuroo and asking him to pick him up, but he’s pretty sure that he’ll either laugh at him or lecture him about how if he’s going to have a girlfriend, he needs to prioritize her at least as much as practice. Kuroo would pick him up either way, but he would definitely spend the whole drive telling Bokuto about how his girlfriend’s needs should trump his extra spiking practice, and Bokuto doesn’t particularly want to hear that right now.

Besides, it’s not like he doesn’t _want_ to spend more time with Hana, he thinks as he kicks at a pebble on the sidewalk, watching it bounce off into a nearby puddle. She’s a lot of fun when she isn’t mad at him, and she makes him laugh nearly as much as Kuroo. But lately, it seems like she’s _always_ mad, and he doesn’t know how to make things go back to how they used to be.

He stares down at his steadily moving feet as he thinks. He knows that she gets mad whenever he’s late to pick her up because of practice. And he also knows that he’s been late more often, and by much longer, recently. But with tournament season coming up and his team depending on him, he was hoping she would understand — especially since they met during last season, so she already knows how busy things can get.

Maybe he can invite her to practice, he thinks as he turns another corner. She always comes to see his games when she can, but she doesn’t really like coming to practice all that much. When he asked why not, she said that she felt like all of his teammates were just staring at her and only saw her as _Bokuto’s girlfriend_ — which, he supposes he can see why that might not be super enjoyable, but at least inviting her would show that he’s trying, right?

He’s starting to think that he’s got this all wrong when he sighs and looks up, already digging around in his pocket for his keys — and suddenly realizes that he is definitely _not_ in front of his apartment building. In fact, he has no idea where he is. He frantically looks around for something familiar, but he doesn’t find anything he recognizes.

Cursing under his breath, he fishes around in his pocket for his phone, ready to call Kuroo and beg him to come pick him up, when he pauses. There’s a shop up ahead with a small sign hanging out in front, a sign that reads _Birds of a Flower._ And it’s like a lightbulb goes off in his head.

He’s jogging towards the shop before the idea is even fully formed in his mind.

Flowers! How had he not thought of _flowers?_ People _love_ to get flowers! Just about every romantic comedy and existence said so! He could buy her flowers, and maybe leave them on her doorstep so that when she came out, the first thing she would see was his apology. Oh, or maybe he could get them delivered! Maybe he could attach a nice card, too, and then a delivery person would knock on her door and her whole face would light up when she saw that Bokuto had done something so nice and thoughtful and— 

The bell above the door chimes almost violently as Bokuto shoves his way inside, his excitement making him a bit more forceful than usual. He winces when he realizes his mistake, but a quick glance around the shop tells him that no one is actually here. 

Though, maybe a quick glance around the room isn’t really enough, because _holy cow are there a lot of plants in here._ It feels like a jungle, with leaves on vines spewing out of hanging pots, reminding him of some great canopy of green. There are large black refrigerators with clear panes of glass, displaying an assortment of colorful flowers inside. But no space is left unused, because there are even plants and large bags of fertilizer stacked on top of the refrigerators, and there are rows and rows of metal shelving holding all kinds of pots and vases. 

So maybe it’s not the cursory glance that assures him that he’s alone as much as the complete absence of noise within the shop. It’s so quiet that, once the noise from the bell dies down, all he can hear is the rumbling of a fan near the front counter. It must be a rotary fan, because every few seconds, he can hear the rustling of some plant in the distance before it quiets back down again.

Bokuto is immediately overwhelmed because there is just _so much_ to look at. He’s never been to an actual flower shop before. In the past, he always just ordered something online, and they always had a best seller’s section that made his selection simple. But here? There are so many plants and flowers lying around, that he’s not sure where one ends and another begins. He feels himself going nearly cross-eyed in his attempts to take everything in at once. How is he supposed to pick something from all of this? He had originally imagined just getting some roses, but now that he sees how many _options_ there are…

He’s so lost in his thoughts, which are slowly growing more overwhelmed by the second, that he nearly jumps when a voice from behind suddenly says, “Welcome to _Birds of a Flower._ Is there anything I can help you with today?”

Bokuto whips around, expecting some hobbling old man with stooped shoulders and graying hair like in the movies, and he’s fully prepared to apologize profusely for causing such a racket earlier — when he realizes that, no, the person speaking to him is _not_ some elderly man with a cane, but rather, a _very_ good looking man his age. And wow, the longer he looks at him, the more attractive he becomes, which can’t be normal. He kind of wants to ask how it’s possible for him to look so pretty, when he suddenly quirks an eyebrow at him and — oh, that’s pretty nice too. It arcs up almost gracefully, which is strange to think about an eyebrow, but it’s totally true, and it makes Bokuto want to reach out and stroke it with his thumb, feeling all those fine hairs and the firm bone underneath— 

“Bokuto-san?” the man says, tilting his head at him curiously. Bokuto doesn’t know why, but he feels his face flush at the sound of his name coming out of the man’s mouth, and wow, his hands are _really_ sweaty all of a sudden. “Can I help you find anything?”

“How do you know my name?” Bokuto asks, because how is it possible for them to have met before? Surely, Bokuto would remember someone who looks like this. He has these eyes that are so intense, like cold metal or the sea at night or something else equally poetic, and Bokuto kind of wants to look at them forever. 

The lifted eyebrow goes up even higher, but the corners of his mouth go up a bit too, and that’s a very, _very_ nice look indeed. Bokuto can’t help but grin at the sight of it, and he’s kicking himself for forgetting someone like this, when the man says, “It’s on your jacket.”

Bokuto blinks for a second before he remembers — he’s wearing his sports jacket. Because he went to Hana’s straight after practice.

And that’s when he remembers — _Hana._

He’s the worst boyfriend in the entire world. Absolute scum. Complete filth. And not just because he keeps missing dinner dates or running late to hang out with her nearly every day. He can’t believe he’s actually thinking about another person like this when he’s currently trying to apologize to the one he’s dating. 

The shame makes his face glow even hotter, but the man seems to take it as embarrassment, because he says, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“No, it’s okay,” Bokuto finds himself saying before he even really thinks about it, and all that anxiety drips away. The man really does have the most beautiful eyes. And all the lines on his face look simultaneously sharp and soft, which makes it really hard to concentrate on anything else. “And you are?”

The man dips his head and points down to a name cross-stitched into the thick green fabric of his apron, a pink curly script that spells out _Akaashi Keiji._

“Akaashi. I’m the owner,” he says, and the name sounds even prettier when he says it. Bokuto is starting to wonder how everything a person does can be pretty. It’s fitting that such a pretty person would own a business all about pretty things. “Are you looking for anything specific? Perhaps I can help you find something.”

Once again, Bokuto suddenly remembers that he’s in a flower shop _to buy an apology gift for his girlfriend seriously Bokuto what is wrong with you._ He smiles sheepishly at Akaashi, half because he caught himself thinking of another person when he’s very much unavailable, but also because he doesn’t really want to admit his relationship status (and how he’s a terrible boyfriend) to him. He coughs into his fist once and strays his gaze to look at a hanging potted plant in the corner before murmuring, “I need something to apologize to my girlfriend.”

Akaashi looks totally unphased by Bokuto’s admission that he is the kind of boyfriend who needs to apologize and instead nods, like he’s quite used to this kind of request. Which, to be fair, he probably is. He gives another tiny smile, like he’s trying to be comforting and sympathetic, and waves his hands towards one of the refrigerators full of flowers. “I think I can help you with that.”

Bokuto follows Akaashi over towards the refrigerator, brushing past hanging vines filled with leaves and flowers. Akaashi opens the refrigerator and pulls out a single red rose, the stem long and leafy. “Red roses symbolize unconditional and passionate love, and their status as a classic romance flower always helps to make a simple, yet effective statement,” Akaashi explains. “Lilies are also common, as they represent devotion and rebirth. They’re a good way to say that you are devoted to the relationship and would like to try again.”

Bokuto has to bite the inside of his cheek every time Akaashi says the words _love_ and _devotion_ because — “Well, we’ve only been dating for a few months,” he says, feeling his cheeks flame even brighter. “I, um. I think maybe that might send too _strong_ of a message, if you know what I mean?”

Akaashi huffs out a little breath through his nose, just the tiniest of laughs, and Bokuto has always been a fan of loud expressions of joy and boisterous laughs, but he might have to reconsider his stance because _god_ he could listen to that little laugh on loop all day. “I understand,” Akaashi says, and there’s a little teasing but knowing glint in his eye as he puts the rose back in its place. He reaches up to a higher shelf within the refrigerator and pulls out another flower for Bokuto to inspect. “Tulips are common apology flowers for just about anyone in your life, romantic or otherwise. They represent new beginnings. People typically send a mix of pink and yellow tulips, to denote affection, friendship, and peace.”

When Akaashi offers the tulip to him, Bokuto takes it and inspects. It’s pretty, and the petals feel velvety soft against his fingertips. But they also don’t feel totally right. Hana was never really into bright colors like pinks and yellows, and Bokuto can totally see her looking at them with disdain, saying something along the lines of _you don’t know me at all, do you?_

“I don’t think these will work either,” Bokuto says, handing the flower back. “She’s not really into pink or anything like that.”

“Not a problem,” Akaashi says, putting the flower back on the shelf and closing the refrigerator. “I think I have some more options down here.”

Akaashi walks him down the row of refrigerators, but Bokuto stops before they reach their destination, his eyes drawn to a puff of white flowers. They look simple but pretty, and Bokuto can’t help but like the look of them. “Hey, hey, Akaashi — what about these?”

Dutifully, Akaashi turns back and draws closer, peering over Bokuto’s shoulder to look at the white flower. Bokuto feels his spine go stiff because from this close, he can feel the heat of Akaashi’s body, warm against his side, and he’s sure that if he turned his head, their faces would be so close together that all he would have to do is lean over and — 

“I agree that those are very pretty, but I’m afraid they might send the wrong message,” Akaashi says, his lips pursed in a smile that feels like a laugh. When Akaashi turns his head to look at him, Bokuto actually stops breathing, because if he leans forward _just_ a little bit, their noses would be touching. He’s going to have to buy _so_ many apology flowers after this. “Candytufts symbolize indifference. If given as a gift, they can come across as quite insulting.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely not that then,” Bokuto says, scrunching up his nose in distaste. “I didn’t know flowers could be _mean.”_

Akaashi lets out another one of those little huffs of laughter, and Bokuto feels something in his gut tingle. To distract himself, he looks over to the refrigerator immediately to his right and points at another collection of flowers. “What about those?”

They’re tiny, but there’s a lot of them bunched together, in hues of orange and red. They make him think of autumn, and he thinks Hana would definitely like those colors more. But once again, Akaashi just smiles kindly at him, like he’s trying to figure out how to let him down easy, before he says, “Butterfly weeds say _leave me.”_

Bokuto actually laughs out loud at that one. “Man, this stuff is trickier than I thought!” He bumps his shoulder against Akaashi’s before he can overthink it. “Should probably leave this to the professionals, I guess.”

He was expecting (and possibly even hoping for) another one of those little huffs of laughter, maybe even a small smile. But when he looks over at Akaashi, he finds that there are spots of pink growing on his cheeks and his eyes are looking straight down, like he can’t bear to make eye contact. Boktuo immediately stiffens. Half his brain is caught between _wow he looks really nice like that_ while the other half is screaming _you were way too obvious and now he knows that you are into him and he’s probably so weirded out by you._

Before he can get too deep in his own head about it, Akaashi clears his throat and then walks down towards the last refrigerator, waving a hand at Bokuto to follow. Bokuto follows despite his embarrassment, and firmly tells himself to _stop flirting with someone who is not your girlfriend for the love of god._

Akaashi opens the refrigerator and bends down to pull out a pot with a tall flower standing inside of it. It looks delicate and dainty, with soft white petals that hang in an arc. Bokuto had every intention of buying whatever Akaashi pulled out next regardless of its appearance, simply so he could get out of this awkward situation as fast as possible, but it’s actually _perfect._

“White orchids symbolize sincerity and care,” Akaashi says, handing the pot to Bokuto. It’s a decorative pot, smooth and white, and it feels cold and soft in his hands. “They’re more fragile, so they represent how one must handle all relationships with care and delicacy. But they are also tied to wealth, which can speak to the richness of your relationship with this person. There’s no inherent romantic association, so they can be given to anyone.”

“Wow,” Bokuto breathes, turning the pot over in his hands to look at the flower from all angles. It hangs down and sways whenever he moves it, and it almost feels wrong for him to be handling it, like his hands are too large and powerful to be holding something so delicate. “This is perfect, Akaashi. She’ll love this.”

Akaashi smiles and waves him towards the front counter. “I’m glad I could help, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto places the pot on top of the counter as Akaashi starts working at the cash register. He drums his fingers along the counter top and stares down at them to avoid staring at Akaashi. “So,” he says, feeling an uncomfortable awkwardness settle on his shoulders. “You sure do know a lot about plants, huh?”

It’s quite possibly the stupidest thing to come out of his mouth, and he doesn’t need Akaashi’s little huffed laugh to tell him that. His cheeks are flushing red before Akaashi even gets done saying, “I should hope so, considering I own a flower shop.”

Bokuto laughs, loud and stilted, and it’s definitely far too obnoxious for such a quiet and serene place. He’s half expecting Akaashi glare at him for the noise, but when he looks up, he still has the little smile of his. “I — well, yeah. I meant that you know a lot about their meanings and stuff,” Bokuto amends. “I knew that roses were for love, but I didn’t really think about other flowers having deep meanings.”

“You’d be surprised how much you can communicate with flowers alone,” Akaashi says, clacking at his cash register. A piece of paper slides out from the top and he rips it out, handing it to Bokuto along with a pen with a plastic sunflower on top. “It’s helpful for when you can’t find the right words yourself. Might as well let nature take a stab at it.”

Bokuto grins at the sentiment. He knows that the transaction is technically finished, but he can’t help but want to stick around. Maybe he can pretend that he’s interested in buying a plant for himself? He’s considering the possibility of strolling around the store once more with Akaashi by his side when he says, “I hope everything goes well with your girlfriend, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto has never wanted to slap himself in the face more. He is being so mean, so _awful_ to Hana, and she’s done nothing to deserve it. He’s the worst boyfriend in the entire world. She deserves a million white orchids at this rate.

“Thank you, Akaashi!” he says with a little too much forced enthusiasm. “Maybe when I get things patched up, I can come back and you’ll help me pick out _I like you_ flowers?”

Akaashi actually laughs softly at that, and not even one huffed out through his nose, though Bokuto quite likes that one. It’s enough of a laugh that he can actually see Akaashi’s teeth, white and lovely, and Bokuto has to swallow down the urge to kiss that perfect mouth. “I’d be more than happy,” Akaashi says, his cheeks curiously rosy.

* * *

Bokuto has every intention of knocking on Hana’s door and giving it to her in person. He knows it will have more impact that way, and that it will help them patch things up faster if he’s there to actually talk through their problems.

But the second he gets to Hana’s door, he remembers all the times he spent staring a little too intently at Akaashi’s smile. He remembers the way Akaashi blushed when he bumped their shoulders together. He remembers all the times he forgot that Hana was the whole reason he was there.

He leaves the white orchid sitting on her doorstep.

* * *

He comes to the decision later that week when he’s having breakfast with Kuroo in his apartment.

“I have to break up with Hana,” he says suddenly, staring down at his runny eggs like they hold the answers to his relationship problems. He doesn’t find anything helpful there, so he switches his gaze over to a half-awake Kuroo instead.

Kuroo doesn’t look particularly impressed, or even surprised. He just continues shoveling his toast and runny eggs in his mouth. There’s a bit of yellow yolk slipping down the side of his hand, but he doesn’t seem to realize it’s there. 

“Kuroo,” Bokuto whines, shuffling in his seat and kicking at Kuroo’s feet under the table. “You’re supposed to be asking why or offering advice or something.”

Kuroo rolls his eyes and finally sets his toast back on the plate. “You already know how I feel about the Hana situation,” he snorts with a shrug. “You guys suck together. I’m surprised she didn’t dump you weeks ago.”

Bokuto squawks in indignation. Sure, he’s planning on breaking up with her, but that doesn’t mean Kuroo needs to say that they had been doomed from the start. “What do you mean? We were great together!” Bokuto insists. “We always had fun and we have a similar sense of humor and—”

“And she’s never been your priority,” Kuroo interrupts, finally noticing the gooey yolk on his hand. He licks it up even as he continues talking, so he sounds a little funny when he says, “She needs more than you’re giving her.”

Bokuto pouts as he crosses his arms over his chest. “What, so you’re saying I’m just a shitty boyfriend?” An image of himself shamelessly flirting with Akaashi comes to mind. He steadfastly ignores it.

Kuroo rolls his eyes as he wipes his now yolk-free hand against his shirt. “I’m not saying that,” he snorts. “I’m just saying, you guys need different things from a relationship. It’s no one’s fault, but the two of you are just a bad match up.”

The reassurance does nothing to smooth over Bokuto’s pout, but arguing against it is pointless, especially when he’s already set on breaking up with her. All that’s left is — “How should I do it?”

Kuroo makes a thoughtful face at that. “I mean you guys have only been together for like, what, three months? It shouldn’t be that terrible,” Kuroo thinks out loud. He shrugs before going back to his toast, like Bokuto’s awful love life is less important than breakfast. “Just don’t be a dick about it. Don’t do it over text, don’t do it in public, the usual. Maybe bring some flowers to smooth things over.”

Bokuto can _feel_ his entire face burn red. He’s suddenly thankful for Kuroo’s apparent zeal for breakfast. Bokuto hides his face in his coffee and tries not to feel giddy about the thought of needing break up flowers.

* * *

There’s an old woman at the counter the next time Bokuto goes to _Birds of a Flower._ She has a bundle of sunflowers wrapped in burlap with a brown string, and she’s talking about how her daughter just announced that she was pregnant with her second child, and apparently, sunflowers are her absolute favorite.

Bokuto hides behind one of the many metal shelves, trying to look like he’s absorbed in inspecting one of the leafy plants perched there. He doesn’t know why the thought of someone observing his interactions with Akaashi is so embarrassing, but it is. Like maybe this woman will take one look at them and just _know_ that Bokuto has become obsessed with a person he’s known for a total of twenty minutes.

“Congratulations,” Akaashi says, his voice sounding even more perfect than Bokuto remembers. “I hope that she enjoys the flowers.”

“Oh, thank you, dear. I’m sure she will,” the woman says, and then there are footsteps fast approaching him. He rubs a leaf in between his fingers like he’s — what, testing the texture? Is that even something plant people consider? — too engrossed to watch her walk out. But the second the bell above the door chimes, he drops the leaf and makes a beeline for the front counter.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, and he actually smiles a bit when he says it, like he’s happy to see him. Bokuto feels a flurry of butterflies erupt low in his belly. “I thought I saw you back there.”

He really wants to play it cool, especially since he was so embarrassing and awkward last time, but the words, “You remembered my name?” are pouring out before he has the chance to think better of them.

Akaashi lifts a brow at that, but he’s still smiling — _and oh god that smile is doing such dangerous things to his heart right now —_ so it looks more fond than judgemental. “Of course. You bought the white orchid, correct? For your girlfriend, I believe.”

The giddy feeling instantly evaporates. Bokuto winces and gives an awkward laugh. “Yeah, yeah — that’s me. That’s why I’m here, actually.”

Akaashi smiles a bit wider at that, a pleasant turn of lips that looks more professional than the others, like he’s putting on a customer service face. It’s not necessarily a bad look, but Bokuto wants the other smile back almost immediately. “Oh? I take it things went well with your girlfriend, then?”

Bokuto winces again. He leans against the counter and starts drawing shapes on the glass top with his finger, staring down at it to avoid looking at Akaashi for a second or two. “Ah, well, actually — I’m looking to get some break up flowers.”

Akaashi’s eyes widen just a fraction and his smile drops entirely. “Oh, I’m — I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Bokuto waves him off, pushing back off the counter to stand up straight. “It was — well. I think it’ll be better this way. We just aren’t a great match.”

Akaashi nods, but he still looks embarrassed. So much for making things less awkward than the last time. “Still, I’m sorry about that. Break ups are never fun or easy.”

“Yeah,” Bokuto nods, trying to bring back that easiness from before. “Um, but she’s super nice and I really like her, so I want to get some flowers to make things a little better. Maybe like, _super_ apology flowers.”

Akaashi nods and steps out from behind the counter, moving a bit stiffly. He waves a hand towards the refrigerators. “Right. Let’s see if I can help with that.”

Bokuto is suddenly glad that he waited for the old woman to leave before approaching, because things are weird enough as it is. He shoves his hands in his pockets to keep himself from running them through his hair and follows Akaashi towards the first refrigerator.

“The classic break up flower so to speak is the striped carnation,” Akaashis says, reaching into the refrigerator and pulling a flower out. The petals are white with dark pink staining the edges, and it swirls outward prettily. “It represents regret over a love that cannot be shared.”

Bokuto tilts his head at that. “But I thought carnations were like roses,” he says, turning the flower over in his hand. “Don’t people get them for their dates when they go to dances and stuff?”

Akaashi actually smiles at that, and it’s back to his real one, thank _god._ Bokuto feels like he can breathe easier now that he’s seen it. “Yes, typically carnations are more of a romantic flower, but color plays an important role in the language of flowers,” Akaashi explains. “Pink carnations represent admiration and red represent a deeper love, but the striped ones are more so associated with rejection.”

“Huh,” Bokuto says, considering it. “So did the orchid mean something different from others because it was white?”

“It did,” Akaashi says, and his voice sounds almost, dare he say, _excited._ Bokuto looks up from the flower to instead look at Akaashi, and his face is bright with a hint of pleasure. “White represents humility, so white orchids serve well as apology flowers. There are actually a lot of commonalities when it comes to the color of flowers. For example, most yellow flowers symbolize friendship, so giving a yellow orchid to a friend makes sense. Even yellow roses are usually given to friends instead of romantic partners. And, as you said, carnations are often given to dates, but it more so has to do with the color and—”

Kuroo always says that he loves to listen to Kenma talk about video games even though he doesn’t really play them, simply because he likes to watch someone he cares about talk about something they care about. Bokuto never really understood this, because he’s had plenty of friends with niche interests, and while he always let them go on and on about those interests without complaint, he never exactly found those conversations engaging. They were more so just something he had to sit through to be a good friend.

But either he’s way more into flowers than he thought, or he’s way more into _Akaashi_ than he realized, because he could listen to him talk about the language of flowers for hours. He never knew flowers could communicate so many different things, and he never knew a person could look this pretty while they talked about it. He half wants to turn down the carnation idea just so he can listen to Akaashi talk more, but well, it is actually really nice. 

“—and I’ve been talking for too long about this,” Akaashi suddenly says, tearing Bokuto from his reverie. His cheeks are stained pink like one of the many surrounding flowers, and Bokuto has the sudden urge to touch them, to see if they are just as soft as a petal. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to talk your ear off.”

Bokuto grins and waves him off. “Nah, it’s fine. I actually really liked it.” Akaashi’s cheeks burn even hotter. It’s glorious, the most incredible thing he’s ever seen. So inspiring, in fact, that genius strikes. “Hey, I actually really like this carnation, but can we add more to it? Like a bouquet? I figure if one flower says one thing, then more flowers will say more things, right?”

“Of course, Bokuto-san. You can mix and match as many flowers as you’d like.”

“Hm.” Bokuto brings a finger up to his chin and thinks. He doesn’t know what they look like, but— “You mentioned that gerbera daisies are sent in _get well soon_ flowers, right? Could that work? Like more of a _well wishes_ type thing?”

Akaashi blinks, and for a second, Bokuto thinks that he must have said something monumentally stupid. After all, it’s not like Hana is _dying,_ so why would he even _think_ to say that — but then Akaashi smiles, wider than he ever has, like he is so, so pleased with Bokuto, and Bokuto can’t help but grin back. 

“Yes, we can certainly do that,” Akaashi breathes, his voice so low and quiet that it almost gets lost in the whirr of the fan and the swishing of the swaying leaves. It makes him feel like they are the only two people in the world, like the universe has shrunk down to the size of the flower shop. Like all of the potted plants grew into massive trees, allowing them to get lost in a world all their own. “The gerbera daisies are this way.”

Akaashi begins walking towards another refrigerator, and Bokuto, dutifully, follows.

* * *

In the end, they end up with a bouquet of striped carnations, light pink gerbera daisies, white lilies, and a splash of baby's breath. Bokuto has no idea if these flowers even go together, but Akaashi seemed to encourage his creativity, allowing him to pick what he wanted and only giving a few tips if he picked a flower that said something like _I want to marry you_ or _I would kill you if it were not for the laws of this land._

And honestly, Bokuto is pretty happy with the end result. Akaashi cuts the stems to make them the appropriate length and starts arranging them with a thoughtful look on his face. Every few seconds, he’ll take a step back to look at the whole picture, before diving back in to make more adjustments. It gives Bokuto a chance to watch him without being creepy, to really take in the sharpness of his eyebrows and the fullness of his cheeks. His hands move deftly and with precision, and Bokuto wonders what it would feel like to hold them, to feel those thin and long fingers against his own. He wonders if they would feel soft or if he would have just as many callouses as Bokuto. 

“Hey, hey, Akaashi, I was just wondering — what’s it like to be a florist?” Bokuto asks, not bothering to look away from Akaashi’s working hands. “Like I know you sell flowers, but what do you do the rest of the time?”

“Hm. Well I actually spend the bulk of my day either making arrangements or dealing with the business side of things,” Akaashi explains as he continues to work. “Contacting suppliers, handling online orders, et cetera. Of course, I get the occasional walk-in, so I spend some time helping people find what they’re looking for. I also have to spend some time taking care of the potted plants that might stay inside the shop for much longer than the flowers, which don’t last very long.”

“Well what do you do with the flowers that go bad?” Bokuto asks. Akaashi seems content with the arrangement, because he begins pulling at a roll of brown paper hanging under the desk, unfurling a long strip before starting to cut it with some scissors.

“It depends. If they are about to go bad and I feel confident that they won’t be sold in time, I will sometimes donate them to a local hospital or retirement home.” Akaashi lays the brown paper flat on the table and takes the bundle of flowers, resting them gently on top. “If they’ve already started to wilt, then I’ll compost them. That way at least they can help something else grow, even if I couldn’t sell them.”

Bokuto perks up at that and looks around the shop in wonder. “Does that mean you grew everything here?” 

Akaashi huffs out a laugh. “No, not everything. I do have a few local suppliers that I use.” Akaashi ties the brown paper around the stems with a pink ribbon, forming a perfect bow. “But I did grow some of them. I live above the shop, so I can’t really have an extensive garden, but I’m able to do enough.”

Bokuto wonders what it’s like to actually _grow_ something, to build it up with your own hands. Sure, he’s developed his skill with volleyball, and he did it with his own two hands — but it’s not something you can hold, not something you can touch. It’s not something you can give to someone else and say _I worked and toiled over this and now it’s yours._

“Is there anything here now that you grew?” he says, looking around the shop as if he’ll be able to spot Akaashi’s handiwork, as if there will be a certain _something_ about it that will so clearly point back to its originator. 

Akaashi moves over towards the cash register and starts tapping away. “I grew the hoya over there. They’re extremely popular since they are so easy to grow, so I always try to keep a few on hand.”

Bokuto has absolutely no idea what a hoya is, but all of a sudden, there is nothing else he wants more in the world. He wants to hold the culmination of all of Akaashi’s efforts in his hands. He wants to take this piece of Akaashi home, to look at it and always remember that it was _Akaashi_ who made it.

“Can I buy it?” Bokuto asks, still desperately looking around the shop for whatever the hell a hoya is, when the clacking of the cash registers stops. He turns back around to find Akaashi looking at him quizzically. 

“You want to buy my hoya?” Akaashi’s confused face, of course, looks just as adorable as the rest of him. Bokuto wants to run his thumb over the crease between his eyebrows until it smooths out. “But you haven’t even seen it.”

“Well that’s cause I don’t know what a hoya is,” Bokuto shrugs. “But if you point it out to me, I can bring it up here!”

Akaashi shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it. “So wait, you — you don’t even know what a hoya _is_ and you want to buy it? What if it’s ugly?”

“Well you just said it was popular, so it can’t be _that_ ugly,” Bokuto reasons. “And you said it was easy to take care of and I could use a plant around the apartment, so why not?”

“I — um. Okay?” Akaashi finally relents, though he still looks a bit bewildered. “It’s the one on the top shelf of the middle unit. Closest to the register. Yes, that one.”

Bokuto lifts it above his head in victory before bringing it back over to the counter. It’s a bit bigger than he expected and it’s not really a flower, but it has these long waxy leaves that fade in and out between light and dark green, and it’s actually kind of pretty. He’s in love with it already. “Aw, Akaashi, this looks awesome! I love this little dude!”

Akaashi snorts but then goes back to clacking on the cash register, presumably adding the hoya to his bill.

“Hey, hey, do people name their plants?” Bokuto asks, turning the hoya around in his hands. “It really is a cute little guy. Feels like he should have a name, doesn’t it?”

Akaashi’s mouth quivers like he’s trying really hard not to laugh out loud, and it’s the single most perfect sight Bokuto has ever seen. He loves the plant infinitely more for helping him make this happen. “Some people do, yes. I suppose it depends on the person.”

“Do you name your plants?” Bokuto asks as he accepts the receipt and pen Akaashi hands him, scribbling out his signature on the bottom line.

“Not usually. Though I tend to give away the things that I grow, so I guess I don’t have them long enough to get attached,” Akaashi says, holding the bouquet of flowers out to him. Bokuto could almost imagine that Akaashi was giving him flowers in the more romantic sense, but then he remembers that they are break up flowers, so he quickly does away with the image. “Hopefully, you won’t have that same problem.”

Bokuto grins as he holds his purchases in his hands. “No way, me and Akihiko over here are gonna be best friends forever.”

Akaashi laughs out loud at the one and Bokuto can’t help but join him. He rides that high the entire walk home.

* * *

Bokuto drops Akihiko off at his apartment before heading over to Hana’s. All of the good feelings he got from his time with Akaashi slowly morph into anxiety. It’s rare for him to date, and even rarer for him to break up with someone. And he really, really likes Hana, even if they’re not the best match for each other. If she starts crying, he has no idea what he’ll do.

But when Hana opens the door, her face is completely blank. She doesn’t look happy or upset to see him, though she at least lets him in this time. But it feels like she knows exactly why he’s here, and it makes his heart drop into his stomach.

“Did you — uh. Did you like the flowers I sent?” he asks as they sit down at her kitchen table. She doesn’t offer him anything to drink. She absolutely knows what’s coming.

“I did,” Hana says, and she gives him a small smile. She looks almost apologetic.

“Good! That’s good.” It’s then that he remembers he’s still holding the bouquet in his hands, and he quickly shoves them at her from across the table. “Here, these are — I hope you like these too.”

She stares at him for a few seconds, her face looking pinched and tight with sadness. After a few more seconds, she finally takes the flowers and sets them down in front of her.

“Bo, we need to talk,” she says, her voice soft but toneless.

“Absolutely,” he says, rubbing his sweaty hands against his jeans. “Yeah, definitely. Whatever you—”

“I think we should break up,” she speaks in a rush. Then, as if realizing what she just said, she winces and reaches out her hands, palms up on the table. Bokuto places his hands on hers, out of habit more than anything else. “Bo, I really, really like you. You make me laugh and you’re so, so sweet, and I really love spending time with you, but—”

“But I don’t make time for you,” he says, nodding. She pauses when he says that, and her face looks almost hopeful. He hates the idea that she’s been carrying around this anxiety for so long; he’s been carrying it too, and he knows how much it sucks. “No, I know. I agree. I really like you too, but I just don’t know if—”

“We’re a good match,” she finishes. He nods again. “I know how important volleyball is to you, so I don’t want to ask you to give it up, but I just can’t — I just need—”

“No, I know, I totally get it,” Bokuto says, gripping her hands harder. It’s weird to think that they’ll never touch like this again, that he’ll never feel her palm against his, warm and steady. “It was nice, but it wasn’t enough. I totally get it.”

It’s like she’s a puppet with all of her strings cut. Her shoulders immediately relax and she squeezes Bokuto’s fingers. Her eyes look a little teary, but she gives him a wobbly smile. “Thank you, Bokuto.”

They sit in silence for a few moments, just holding each other’s hands. Even though he knows it’s for the best, he’s actually kind of _sad_ about the whole thing. He knows that couples rarely become friends after dating, and he’s going to _miss_ having her around.

“You know,” she says, laughing a little bit. “I think you’ve given me more flowers in one week than any guy ever gave me in the length of a relationship.”

He huffs out a little laugh at that, because she’s trying, but it’s also sad. He really should have done better. “Well you deserve a guy who’ll get you flowers every day, and not just because he’s sorry.”

Hana smiles. She squeezes his hand one last time, before she finally lets go.

* * *

Bokuto thinks about the things he will miss about Hana the entire walk home. He thinks about how she would kiss his cheek and then laugh when it left a dark red stain on his skin, how she’d try to wipe it away with her thumb. He thinks about her laugh, so loud and boisterous that it almost rivaled his own. He thinks about how strong she is, how she could nearly keep up with him on his morning jogs, how she would dare him and his whole team to arm wrestle whenever she got too drunk.

When he gets home, he dumps his keys on the entryway table and sighs, leaning back against the door and closing his eyes for a few seconds. When he opens them again, he spots Akihiko, his new green roommate, sitting on the counter. He smiles just a bit.

Then, he grabs his laptop. Time to figure out how exactly one is supposed to keep a hoya alive.

* * *

He waits a few days before going back to _Birds of a Flower._ It’s not like he plans on asking Akaashi out or anything, but it still feels weird to go see him so soon after breaking up with Hana. It feels like some kind of betrayal.

But after a few days, he’s sitting in the passenger seat of Kuroo’s car, heading back to his apartment for a night of video games after a pretty intense practice, when he suddenly thinks that he should find a way to thank Kuroo for helping him with the break up. Granted, it’s not like he did anything huge, but he at least talked Bokuto through it. And Hana seemed to like the flowers, so it was a good suggestion.

It’s all the excuse he needs.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says soon after the bell above the door chimes, signaling his arrival. “Back so soon?”

“Yup!” Bokuto chirps as he walks towards the front and leans his elbows on the counter. “Turns out, flowers are a really great gift! I never realized before.”

Akaashi smiles. “Oh? So you have another gift to give?”

“I do! I need a thank you gift, for a friend.” Bokuto gives him a sly grin and winks, perhaps a bit more flirtatious now that there’s no guilt associated with it. “You think you could help me with that?”

Akaashi’s cheeks go beautifully pink, and for once, there’s no sense of shame clouding Bokuto’s enjoyment. Instead, he just revels in Akaashi’s smile and short nod.

“Seeing as thank you flowers are our most common purchases, I think I can find a few options for you,” Akaashi teases, already leading him over to the row of refrigerators. He pulls out a flower and hands it to Bokuto to inspect. “Blue hydrangeas are common thank you flowers, especially if you are thanking someone for helping you through something difficult. They represent gratitude and understanding.”

Bokuto looks the flower over. It’s soft and pretty, and he likes the color a lot, but it also feels like it’s lacking something. It almost feels a little too plain. He can practically see Kuroo’s unimpressed face now.

“I like it, but what if — hm,” he pauses, half embarrassed to be giving suggestions to a _florist._ “Could we maybe add yellow roses to it? You said last time that those are for friendship, right?”

Akaashi blinks at him. Then, his lips quirk up in a smile that’s wide enough to show his teeth. It feels like winning the lottery. Or like hitting one of Atsumu’s sets perfectly, the sound of the ball smacking against the floor so deafening that he can feel the vibrations in his chest just as much as he can feel the sting in his palm.

“Yes, that’s right. I think those two would look lovely together.”

Bokuto pumps one fist in the air, mainly because his other hand is still holding a flower, and he doubts Akaashi would appreciate such rough treatment of his merchandise. Akaashi laughs and the feeling of complete victory is only heightened. “Any other recommendations? I really wanna wow him, so hit me with all you got.”

Akaashi tilts his head to the side like he’s thinking, but that smile hasn’t left his face yet, so it comes across as way more adorable than he probably intends. Seriously, Bokuto kind of wants to squish his little face between his hands until they both burst.

“I think white freesias would pair nicely,” he finally says with a nod. “They’re simple, so they’ll help balance the colors out a bit. Freesias also represent friendship and trust, so it stays on message. We can also put some baby’s breath and daisies to fill it out a bit more.”

“Sounds good to me!”

Akaashi nods and grabs a basket from the counter. He begins collecting his materials, walking from refrigerator to refrigerator, with Bokuto trailing behind him all the while.

“So,” Bokuto starts as Akaashi bends inside one refrigerator to pick out a few yellow roses. Bokuto keeps his eyes steadfastly on the ceiling so that he won’t do something treacherous, like stare at Akaashi’s ass. “I only ever see you here. Does anyone else work here?”

“Not really,” Akaashi says, gently placing a few roses inside the basket. “I have a girl who comes in sometimes, usually on the weekends, but her availability is limited since she’s still in high school. I have a guy who manages deliveries for me, but he’s an external service. Sometimes during the busier months like February, I’ll rope some friends into helping me out. Other times my mother will take over the shop when I want to take a vacation. It varies, but I’m pretty much the sole employee here.”

Bokuto imagines what it would be like if he came into the shop one day to find Akaashi’s mother manning the counter instead. He’s not sure if he’s excited ( _the woman who created Akaashi!_ ), anxious ( _I’m not ready to meet the parents!_ ), or downright terrified ( _t_ _his woman cannot find out that I stared at her son’s ass when I was supposed to be staring at the ceiling!_ ). He settles on the fact that it would be entirely unpleasant, at least at this stage in their relationship.

“What do you like to do in your free time?” Bokuto asks as Akaashi moves over to the next refrigerator. 

“Nothing special, really,” Akaashi says, getting down on his knees to pick through flowers at the bottom level. He recognizes it from his bouquet to Hana: baby’s breath. “I read. I write. I garden.”

He sits back on his heels for a moment and looks up at Bokuto, giving him a small smile. “Sometimes I play volleyball too. Not much anymore, but I used to play quite a bit.”

It’s like a bomb goes off inside his brain. Little fires erupt all over the place, his little brain workers desperately trying to put them out, waving their arms and yelling _volleyball? He likes volleyball? Oh my god! Oh my god!_ It’s pure chaos.

This chaos transforms into Bokuto jumping up and down on the balls of his feet, waving his hand at himself frantically and saying far too loud, “No way! I play volleyball too!”

Akaashi gives his little laugh again, the one that is more than the huff through his nose but less than a full blown laugh. It’s a one hit K.O., especially since his brain is already completely on fire. “I know, Bokuto-san.”

“You _know?_ ” Bokuto suddenly has visions of Akaashi coming to one of his games, a face lost among the crowd, watching Bokuto leap through the air and rip through their opponent’s defenses like it’s nothing. He wonders if Akaashi would stand up and cheer in those moments, if he would clap his hands together as much as he could, if he would grin wide and excited. “How? Have you seen one of my games?”

“Your sports jacket, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, pointing at it. “It has your name and volleyball team on the back. I saw it when we first met.”

Bokuto would be embarrassed about making a fool of himself in front of Akaashi again, but it’s already become a pattern, so surely Akaashi just expects it at this point. Besides, he’s too busy riding the high of _oh my god Akaashi is into volleyball_ to really care all that much. “Aw man, I keep forgetting about that!” he laughs, smacking his palm against his forehead. “I got so pumped thinking you’d seen one of my games before! What position do you play?”

“I played setter in high school. But like I said, I don’t play all that much anymore.”

“You played _setter?_ That’s awesome! I’m an outsider hitter!” Bokuto says, practically jittering in place. When he sees Akaashi grab his basket, he reaches a hand down to help him stand up. The feeling of Akaashi’s hand in his does nothing to calm his racing heart. “Hey, you should totally come play with us some time! My setter’s really good and all, but I bet you’d be way more fun than him!”

Akaashi laughs again as he starts collecting more white flowers and dumping them into the steadily filling basket. “It’s been so long, I’m not sure how good I would be.”

“Well maybe you could come watch us some time!” Bokuto says, feeling more and more excited about the idea the more he envisions it. “Tournament season is coming up, so things are getting really good! We have a game coming up next month, if you’d want to come!”

Akaashi must finish collecting all the flowers he needs, because he closes the refrigerator door and stands up straight to look at Bokuto head on, holding the basket between them. Bokuto can see him waiting up for him in the stands, throwing down flowers after they win, his smile so wide and proud and just for him. “I think I’d really enjoy that, Bokuto-san.”

And oh — _oh,_ the way Akaashi smiles at him just then. He knew that he liked Akaashi and that he found him attractive, but this feeling, it’s — it feels so much bigger than that. As Akaashi walks him back to the counter, the back of his neck and the tips of his ears stained pink, Bokuto can’t help but think that—

* * *

“I’m officially in love,” Bokuto sighs, falling back against the couch dramatically. “I’m in love and he’s perfect and it’s never going to happen. Oh, and those flowers are for you.”

Kuroo snorts as he sets two beers down on the coffee table beside the bouquet of flowers. Bokuto was too caught up in his feelings of unrequited love to put them in a vase, so they’re lying flat on their sides and don’t look nearly as impressive as when Akaashi held it out towards him. 

“Is this your way of confessing to me? Because you’re doing a shitty job,” Kuroo says, pushing his legs off the cushion so he can sit down. “Oh, and also I’m with Kenma. So you’re right — never gonna happen.”

Bokuto wants to kick Kuroo for being mean, but he knows that if he does that, he won’t let him rest his feet across his lap, so he resists. “No, not _you._ I meant Akaashi.”

“Akaa-who?”

“Akaashi. My florist.”

Kuroo blinks at him for a second. Then, he throws his head back and laughs, loud and obnoxious. “Wait, wait, wait — so you’re telling me you bought me flowers just as an excuse to see your boyfriend?” Kuroo makes a weepy face and sniffles. “Bro, I’m hurt. Here I thought you were buying me flowers because you loved me.”

Bokuto does kick Kuroo for that, but not hard. He just sort of presses his toes against his stupid face, really. “Shut up, that’s totally not it! They’re thank you flowers. For helping me with Hana. See, the yellow roses symbolize friendship and the blue hyd—”

“If the language of flowers is your and Akaashi’s dirty talk, please, for the love of god, spare me,” Kuroo interrupts, raising a hand to effectively cut him off. “So, are you asking this guy out, or what?”

Bokuto sputters and flails until he can sit up and look Kuroo in the face. He nearly kicks him in the balls in the process, but really, Kuroo should know better than to leave his groin unprotected when Bokuto’s feet are in his lap. “Am I asking — _no,_ of course not!”

Kurro raises a brow at that and takes a sip from his beer. “Why not?”

“Because he’s _perfect!_ ”

“So you said.”

“And he knows that I _just_ got out of a relationship, so I can’t just ask him out _now,”_ Bokuto says, which he thinks is a much more reasonable excuse than Akaashi’s perfection (though that is still valid). “And he also knows that it was a relationship that _I_ messed up, so he probably doesn’t think much of my romance skills.”

Kuroo flaps his hand like all of that is inconsequential. “Well, just wait a month and then ask him. He’ll forget all about it.” Then, after he takes another sip of beer, “Or just buy out his entire stock. He’ll probably be so grateful, he’ll date you even with your shitty track record.”

“Ugh, you’re the _worst,”_ Bokuto groans before flopping back down on the couch. Kuroo just laughs again, kicking his feet up on the coffee table and switching on the TV. But when Bokuto looks back and sees the bouquet, he can’t help but think that maybe Kuroo is on to something.

* * *

He doesn’t buy out Akaashi’s stock. Mainly because he doesn’t have the money for it, but also because he doesn’t want all those plants to go to waste, and he doesn’t have enough friends to give them all to.

Instead, he just conveniently finds a lot of occasions that would warrant buying flowers. For example, Hinata’s fingernail cracks and bleeds after he tries to block one of Bokuto’s really nasty spikes; this of course requires a bouquet that says both _I’m sorry_ and _get well soon._ During that particular trip, he manages to find out Akaashi’s favorite author and the local coffee shop he frequents on weekends.

Then, Atsumu makes fun of him for completely whiffing a spike; this gives him a perfect and creative opportunity to make an insult bouquet, filled with flowers that say _fuck you_ and _you’re the devil,_ though Akaashi chooses to translate it differently. He hears Akaashi laugh at least five times, and three of them are distinct, so it’s a very successful trip.

Then, Bokuto finds out that Kenma is finally coming home from his trip overseas for a gaming convention; though he’s sure Kuroo has it handled, he cannot pass up the opportunity to buy _welcome home_ flowers. He finds out that Akaashi was a really good student in high school and that he’s writing a book, which so perfectly fits with Bokuto’s image of him that it’s like he made him up inside his head. Kuroo is less than pleased with Bokuto infringing on his romantic duties, but Kenma texts him later to say that he likes the flowers, so he figures it’s fine.

But when excuses start to wear thin, Bokuto doesn’t let it get to him. After all, there doesn’t need to be an occasion to buy someone flowers, right? Sometimes, you just want to do something nice for someone, and flowers always cheer people up. This, at least, is what he tells himself when he ends up going back to _Birds of a Flower_ almost every single day for the next two weeks.

“Bo, I swear to god, if those are for me, I’m going to shove you in this locker and leave you here all night,” Kuroo threatens, waving his sweaty jersey at him. “My apartment is overrun with this shit. I don’t even have a place to put them anymore.”

“Well I like ‘em!” Hinata pipes up from behind them, tugging off his jersey and throwing it into his duffle bag. “It’s nice to come home to all those flowers after a long day!”

 _"Thank_ you, Hinata!” Bokuto says pointedly, handing the flowers to Hinata instead. “I agree!”

“Then stop buying them for us and buy them for yourself,” Atsumu yells from the showers, because he always has to get a word in. “I think my own apartment is giving me allergies.”

“What did Akaashi-san say these mean?” Hinata asks, poking through the assortment of flowers.

Bokuto grins and starts pointing at the flowers excitedly, because Hinata is the only person on his team that he loves and respects anymore. “This one means loyalty, this one means understanding, and this one means dignity and strength. Ya’know, it was originally for Kuroo, but now that I think about it, it definitely suits you better.”

Kuroo barks out a laugh. “Hey, maybe you should try asking Akaashi what kind of bouquet you give to someone who’s too cowardly to ask someone out already,” he says, earning a laugh from the showers. “Maybe there’s a flower that says _grow some balls already.”_

That gets more than a few laughs from the rest of the locker room. Even Hinata releases a giggle. Clearly, this is not a sustainable plan to win Akaashi’s heart.

* * *

“I think Akihiko could use a friend,” Bokuto says as he strolls up to the front counter. “He probably gets sad seeing all those flowers die after a week or two, you know. I think he needs a long term buddy to keep him company.”

Akaashi’s smile comes out fast and easy this time. It’s been taking less and less time to bring it out with every meeting, and Bokuto can’t get enough of it. 

“I’m surprised he’s still doing well, if I’m honest.” Akaashi’s voice is light and teasing, and Bokuto wonders if he has this level of comfort with all of his regulars. He selfishly hopes not. “You don’t exactly look to have a green thumb.”

Bokuto throws his head back and laughs. “Well guess who apparently has _two_ green thumbs and has kept Akihiko super alive,” he chirps, thrusting his thumbs towards himself. “This guy!”

It’s a stupid joke, and way too dorky to even be clever, but Akaashi still laughs, so it’s worth it. He comes out from behind the counter and stands in front of Bokuto, close enough that he can smell his musky scent, a strange mix of clean like fresh linens and earthy like hot asphalt after humid rainfall. Or, at least, that’s the best descriptor he can come up with after surreptitiously sniffing at Akaashi whenever he bends over to grab some flowers.

“Well, I guess it’s true that everyone needs a partner in life. I can’t imagine plants are all that different,” Akaashi says, but it’s really soft, and Bokuto isn’t sure if it’s because they’re so close that he doesn’t need to talk all that loud or if it’s because Akaashi is trying to say something without really saying it. Bokuto has never been great at picking up on these things, and he’s not sure if he’s just imagining what he wants to hear, but it also feels so _obvious,_ so what else could it possibly mean?

“Yeah, that’s true,” he breathes, because Akaashi is looking him right in the eye and it’s very distracting to have all that focus on him. Sometimes, in his weaker moments, he imagines what it would have been like to play with Akaashi in high school, or maybe even _against_ him. He imagines those piercing eyes staring at him from across the net, marking him with an intense focus that would have left Bokuto trembling with excitement, challenging him to take it higher and higher—

“If you like hoyas, you can always get another. They’re easy to grow and don’t require much, so if you really want two plants, another hoya might be good with your busy schedule,” Akaashi says, walking over towards one of the metal shelving units and completely breaking Bokuto out of his reverie. He shakes his head to get rid of the last of his thoughts before trailing behind him, keeping his eyes on the plants because looking at Akaashi right now would be dangerous for his heart. “But there are other low maintenance plants that you might like if you want some variety. I always recommend the spider plant for first timers.”

Akaashi pulls a pot from off the shelf and hands it to him. Their fingers touch during the trade off, and Bokuto can feel his cheeks flame like he’s a teenager on his first date. He barely even looks at the plant before handing it back to Akaashi, his mouth feeling thick and full of cotton as he says, “Maybe something else?”

“Sure,” Akaashi says, placing that pot back on the shelf and pulling out another. “The snake plant is also common for beginners. It’s pretty tough and can survive nearly anywhere.”

Akaashi hands the plant out again, but Bokuto doesn’t know if his heart can take another brush of fingers, especially when his mind is still swimming in _everyone needs a partner in life._ So instead, he just shakes his head and shrugs. “I think I want something that looks totally different from Akihiko.”

Akaashi nods, replacing the plant and making a thoughtful face. “Hm. Well, what are the limitations? For example, is space an issue? I know you must leave for away games fairly often, but would you have someone who could care for your plants while you’re away, or do they need to be able to withstand several days without water?”

Normally, Bokuto tries to soak in every second he has with Akaashi. He tries to stretch things out for as long as possible, to listen intently to every word so he can remember whole conversations later. But he’s too preoccupied to really enjoy it. Bokuto only half listens to what Akaashi says about the plants themselves, and instead makes decisions purely on how they look. He eventually settles on one, a monstera, but really it’s just because Akaashi said that it’s also called a swiss cheese plant.

It’s a huge plant with a large pot, and Bokuto is about to offer to carry it to the counter for him, when Akaashi suddenly crouches down and lifts it up like it’s nothing. His back is completely straight as he stands back up, and Bokuto can see the muscles in his shoulders shifting under his shirt as he carries it towards the counter, and it makes his tongue feel thick and heavy in his mouth.

“If you’d like, I can have this delivered to you. It might be a bit cumbersome to walk home with it,” Akaashi says as he sets the monstera down on the counter. He isn’t even out of breath, and the sheer athleticism has Bokuto about to swoon.

“Well, lemme see if—” Bokuto pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to Kuroo. When he doesn’t respond immediately, he sends one to Kenma as well, just to cover his bases. “My friend might be able to come pick me up. That way Akihiko can meet his new best friend faster.”

Akaashi practically _giggles_ as he starts clacking away at the register, and it’s so perfect that Bokuto finds his mouth opening without his permission, ready to say—

“So do you have a name picked out for this one?”

“A name?” Bokuto blinks. The plant is so big and sprawling that he actually has to look through the leaves to see Akaashi. “Oh, right! Hm.” He looks at the plant for a moment, considering. It’s huge and has wide, dark green leaves with little holes in them. It’s in a plain pot, but there’s a little tag hanging off one of the lower arms that reads _monstera deliciosa._ It’s handwritten, and he imagines it must be Akaashi’s handwriting, loopy and precise and perfect.

“Oh, what about Kaibutsu-kun?” Bokuto asks before laughing at his own joke. “Yeah, Kaibutsu-kun! That’s perfect! Don’t you think so, Akaashi?”

Akaashi’s laugh is soft and airy, a _ha ha ha_ that makes Bokuto’s whole hurt thump loudly in his chest. “I think that’s a perfect name for a monstera.”

But Bokuto barely hears him. Instead, all he can hear is _it’s true that everyone needs a partner in life._

Bokuto pushes the pot towards the far end of the counter so he can lean his elbows against the top and look at Akaashi head on. Then, he takes a steadying breath and says, “So do you have one?”

“I do,” Akaashi says, ripping out the receipt and handing it to him. Bokuto feels his entire body go numb. “I try not to keep too many plants in my apartment since it’s so small, but I really do love monsteras, so I made an exception.”

Depression turns into confusion before it morphs into full blown relief. Sometimes Bokuto forgets that the conversation going on in his head is not the _actual_ conversation that’s happening. He laughs, a bit shyly, and says, “Oh, I — ha, I actually meant do you have a partner?”

Akaashi abruptly stops typing at that and darts his eyes back to Bokuto. They look a bit wider than usual, but his face is still mostly neutral. “A partner?”

“Yeah! Earlier you said that everyone needs a partner, right?” Bokuto says, trying to sound unaffected even though his face must be bright red. “So, you know. Do you?”

Akaashi blinks at him for a few seconds, and the shop falls brutally quiet. Bokuto doesn’t even think he can hear the whirring of the fan anymore. Which means that he can hear Akaashi loud and clear when he finally says, “No, I don’t.”

The shop is still silent. Was it always this quiet? It never felt this empty before, like all the air was sucked out and all that was left was him, Akaashi, and the counter separating them. “Oh. Well, uh — me neither.”

Akaashi just keeps blinking at him. Slowly, gradually, his cheeks start to pinken. It’s the perfect opportunity. It’s like something out of a movie, where the whole world fades away until it’s just the two of them, Akaashi blushing so prettily and looking up at him through his lashes, and maybe he’d stutter and say _Bokuto-san, I like y—_

Bokuto’s phone chimes. Suddenly, the whirring of the fan comes back, and he can hear the swaying of leaves. He can hear a kid outside squealing and a woman laughing. The moment is gone.

Akaashi looks back down at the cash register, so Bokuto looks down at his phone. “It’s, uh, my friend,” Bokuto says awkwardly, feeling his body thrum with all that unreleased tension. “He says he’s only a few minutes away, so he can come pick me up.”

Akaashi hums in confirmation, but he hasn’t looked up from the cash register yet. Bokuto drums his fingers against the counter. He really wishes he hadn’t opened his mouth.

“So, um,” he starts, desperately looking for something to talk about. “What other plants do you have in your apartment?”

Akaashi finally looks up at him then, but his cheeks are still pink and — shit, did that sound like Bokuto was trying to weasel his way into Akaashi’s apartment? What if he thought that was some kind of come on?

“I didn’t mean—”

“I usually keep a vase of sunflowers on my kitchen table,” Akaashi says. “They grow so quickly and there’s always so much of them. Even though they’re extremely popular, I always end up having some left over. So I’ve just taken to keeping a few in my apartment.”

“Oh. That’s — that’s really nice,” Bokuto says. He clears his throat and slaps on his widest smile. “And hey, even I know what that is!”

Akaashi smiles, smaller than his usual one, but still there. Bokuto feels his shoulders start to relax. “I have a Chinese money plant and a frizzle sizzle as well. They’re not the most commonly purchased plants, but I love the way they look.”

“A _frizzle sizzle?_ ” Bokuto laughs. “Oh man, that sounds so weird. What’s it look like?”

“I don’t have one in the shop,” Akaashi says, and he finally sounds relaxed again. “But you can google them. They’re definitely on the stranger side in terms of appearances.”

Akaashi wasn’t lying. After a quick google search, Bokuto finds that frizzle sizzles are just as bizarre as their name suggests, with curling loops that look like gift ribbons. He can’t help but laugh as he scrolls through the images. “Oh man, I love this little freak! He’s so cool! Can I get one of these?”

“Well, they’re a bit more difficult to take care of, especially if you live in an apartment. They need direct sunlight and they can be a bit temperamental about water and drainage,” Akaashi says.

Bokuto would feel disappointed, but he’s suddenly struck with a question that he _needs_ the answer to. “Hey, hey, Akaashi — what’s your favorite flower?”

Akaashi blinks at him again. “My favorite flower?”

“Yeah!” Bokuto says, clearing the google search and preparing to look up whatever plant Akaashi says. “You’re a florist, so I bet your favorite flower has to be one of the best, right? Cause you would know!”

Akaashi does his soft little _ha ha ha_ again, and it makes Bokuto even more desperate to find out his favorite flower. He wonders if he keeps his favorite flower in the shop, or if it’s too rare to keep in stock. Maybe he could buy him his favorite flower some day. But would he buy it from Akaashi’s shop, or would that be weird? Or would it be even _weirder_ to buy him a gift from his competitors?

“Wouldn’t knowing more of the options make it more difficult to choose?” Akaashi teases, leaning his elbows against the counter and looking up at the ceiling like he really has to think about it. “Hm. I don’t think my tastes are particularly exotic or unusual. I like peonies and camellias. I like stargazer lilies, but they’re highly toxic to animals, so I never got one for myself. I’m also a fan of lilac and buttercups, but again, those aren’t exactly uncommon favorites.”

Bokuto frantically starts looking them up, repeating the list in his mind over and over so he won’t forget. He spends the next few minutes scrolling through pictures, turning his phone so that Akaashi can see as well. He’s surprised by how bright and colorful they are. It’s not like he thought Akaashi would be into something dark and gloomy, but he almost expected something — refined? Elegant? Bokuto isn’t sure.

But he has a sudden image of Akaashi kneeling in a garden, the grass green and plush in the sunlight, surrounded by colorful flowers. He sees bundles of pinks and blues and purples and yellows, sees Akaashi’s pale fingers digging into the wet brown earth and adding even more color to the sea of vibrant petals. He pictures him wearing a straw hat and dirty jeans, and there’s a sunburn on the bridge of his nose and a smile wide across his face.

The bell above the door chimes before he can do anything drastic, like drop down on one knee and propose. When he looks up, he realizes how close their faces have become, the both of them pushing closer to get a better look at his phone. He steps away from Akaashi like it burns.

“I got a pick up for a certain bird-brained idiot,” a voice behind him says, sounding lazy but definitely not uninterested. All at once, Bokuto realizes how terrible of an idea it was to ask him to come here.

“Kuroo!” he says, perhaps a bit too loud with nervousness. “You made it! Great! Help me load this into the car, will you?”

“In a sec,” Kuroo says, sliding in next to Bokuto and leaning against the counter so he can look at Akaashi. “This must be our favorite little florist. You’re pretty famous, you know.”

Akaashi raises a brow. “How so?”

“Well just about everyone on our team has their apartment filled to the brim with your flowers,” Kuroo laughs and Bokuto immediately starts flailing his arms. “Plus, this one over here won’t stop talking about—”

Bokuto slaps his hands over Kuroo’s mouth, and he doesn’t even care that it might have been a bit too hard. He deserves it for being the absolute worst best friend in the entire universe. “Don’t listen to him! He doesn’t know what he’s saying! He’s taken one too many spikes to the head!”

Kuroo grumbles behind his hand, and when that doesn’t do anything, he starts to lick at Bokuto’s palm. It feels wet and weird and entirely unpleasant, but Kuroo is a fool if he thinks that’s enough to make him let go.

Akaashi’s mouth is a wobbly line, which Bokuto knows means that he wants to laugh but he’s trying to be polite and so is holding it back for his sake. It makes Bokuto’s face go even hotter. “It was — he’s exaggerating. Not everyone got—”

Kuroo finally just pulls Bokuto’s hand down and out of the way. “Absolutely _everyone_ got flowers. _Twice.”_

“That’s not true! Okay, well — well, they weren’t all from you! I can go to other shops, you know!”

Akaashi holds a hand to his chest. “You mean you’ve been seeing other florists behind my back?”

Kuroo starts howling with laughter. Bokuto wants to chastize him because this is a _shop._ It’s always quiet and peaceful and really, Kuroo should know better than to come in here acting like an animal. He’s embarrassing _himself_ more than anything. “What? No! Of course not! I would never—”

Bokuto suddenly sees Akaashi bite down on his wobbling lip. His cheeks are bright pink and his eyes are bright and teasing. He’d feel embarrassed that the guy he loves is laughing at him if he didn’t look so damn _pretty_ while doing it.

“Oh, I like him,” Kuroo says once his laughter calms down, wiping a tear from his eye.

“Okay, well I think it’s time we head out! Got things to do and all!” Bokuto says loudly, hoisting the large pot and shoving it at Kuroo hard enough that he lets out a little _oof._ “Thanks so much for the plant, Akaashi! I’ll see you around!”

Bokuto starts pushing Kuroo towards the door, and Akaashi laughs. “Take good care of Kaibutsu-kun, Bokuto-san.”

“Who the fuck is Kaibuts—”

“I will! Thanks again!”

* * *

Bokuto never really understood plant people before. He’d see pictures of apartments filled to the brim with plants and wonder how on earth anyone could _want_ something like that. Doesn’t it get in the way of everyday life? What if they wanted to have some friends over or throw a party? It felt weird to let something take up so much space when it didn’t really have a function besides looking pretty.

He’d see people call themselves “plant parents” and post updates about their plants like they were toddlers taking their first steps, and he just _didn’t get it._ They’d talk about their favorite plant growing a new leaf and it’s like — well, yeah. Isn’t that what they’re supposed to do? It felt weird for people to brag about something that didn’t exactly take any effort on their part, besides watering something.

That was before Akihiko and Kaibutsu-kun.

They were just sort of excuses at first, a reason to see Akaashi or to take a piece of him home. They made him smile simply because they reminded him of his favorite florist and the conversations that led up to their purchase.

But now? He put so much time into researching how to care for them, and checking the dampness of their soil every single morning has become such a routine that he thinks he might actually combust if one of them died. They’re the first thing he sees when he opens his bedroom door in the morning or when he enters the apartment after practice, and just seeing them makes something warm settle in his chest.

He reads an article that says that plants grow better when they hear music, so he starts leaving classical music on before he leaves the apartment. Yaku tells him that talking to plants is good for them, so he starts telling his plants about his day whenever he comes home. He discovers that different soils can help with plant growth, so he buys the best one he can find and spends an entire Saturday making sure he repotted them correctly. He even got a tube of black paint so he could write their names out on their pots, giving them a proper place to call home.

He _gets it_ now. Akihiko and Kaibutsu-kun are his actual children at this point. He’s all but opened up a savings account for their college fund.

Which is why when he notices that Kaibutsu-kun’s leaves have started to droop, he nearly has a heart attack. It’s like he’s back in high school, with the entire world zero focusing down into this one sign of failure, this one indication that he’s not good enough. He slumps on the floor next to Kaibutsu-kun and rubs at his leaves gently, whispering, “What’s wrong? Hey, hey, buck up, Kaibutsu-kun, it’s okay!”

But Kaibutsu-kun just continues to droop sadly. Bokuto doesn’t even think about it. He grabs his phone, googles the number for _Birds of a Flower,_ and calls.

He doesn’t even wait for a greeting. The second he hears the click of the phone picking up, Bokuto says, “Akaashi?”

There’s a brief pause. “Bokuto-san?”

“Akaashi!” The relief is palpable. He rubs his nose against one of Kaibutsu-kun’s leaves, as if to say _it’s all gonna be okay now._ “Hey, Akaashi, Kaibutsu-kun’s not feeling so good. He’s drooping a lot? And I think I’ve been watering him right! I never let him get dry!”

If Akaashi finds it weird that his customer is calling him for a plant consultation, he doesn’t give anything away. Instead, he just goes straight into diagnosis mode. “Have the leaves changed color at all?”

He delicately pulls at the leaves so he can get a better look at them. “Yeah, actually. He’s got some spots of yellow and brown.”

“Are the spots of yellow and brown on the same leaf, or are some leaves yellow while others are brown?”

“Uuuuh, the first one.”

“Ah, well then there’s the problem,” Akaashi says, and Bokuto can _hear_ his small smile. “If it’s yellow and brown on the same leaf, it means that you’re overwatering it. Monsteras are usually pretty clear about what they want.”

“Is overwatering really bad?” Bokuto asks, rubbing at the spots where the leaves have gone brown like he’s trying to soothe the ache.

“It can be, if not taken care of. Overwatering can lead to more severe ailments like root rot, but it doesn’t sound like that’s the case here,” Akaashi assures him. “I’d suggest cutting off the browned leaves at the base and just not watering again until the soil is completely dry. For future reference, you want to make sure it’s getting an equal amount of water and sunlight, and it shouldn’t be damp past two to three inches deep in the soil. You should be watering it consistently, but not every day. More like once a week.”

Bokuto winces. “Oh. Yeah, I’ve definitely been doing it more than once a week.”

Akaashi laughs, not unkindly. “That’s okay, monsteras are resilient. Kaibutsu-kun will bounce back just fine.”

“Oh, thank god,” Bokuto breathes a sigh of relief. “You’re my hero, Akaashi.”

“I’m glad I could help.” There’s a sound of something shuffling, and then a soft thudding, like he just set down something heavy. “Actually, why don’t I give you my cell number? You’re honestly lucky I even heard the phone ring. It’s in the back room and I rarely hear it out front, but I was just about to restock.”

Bokuto honestly thinks his brain has shut down, and not because of Kaibutsu-kun’s drooping leaves. “You want to give me your number?”

“Yeah,” Akaashi says, like he isn’t completely setting Bokuto’s brain on fire. “You come in regularly enough, and problems are bound to arise with your plants. It’s easier to reach me this way.”

Bokuto wants to question how this can possibly be real life, but he’s never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Plus, he doesn't want Akaashi to come to his senses and recant his offer. “Yeah, totally, that seems reasonable!”

He scrawls Akaashi’s number down on his arm since he can’t find any paper. He traces over the numbers with the tip of his finger, almost reverent. _Akaashi’s phone number._ He can hardly believe it.

“Send me updates about Kaibutsu-kun,” Akaashi says, and he sounds like he really means it, like he really does want Bokuto to text him. “I hope he starts feeling better soon.”

* * *

Akaashi probably made a big mistake when he gave Bokuto his phone number and asked for updates, but if _he_ feels that way about it, he hasn’t given any indication. So Bokuto just continues sending him pictures and texts with too many exclamation points, and refuses to feel any anxiety over it. He’s never been too good at overthinking anyways.

* * *

 **Bokuto:** [IMG2008023]

 **Bokuto:** Akaashi !!! look! Kaibutsu-kun is lookin so handsum 2day!!!! :) :) :)

**Akaashi:** He’s looking much better. Has the soil completely dried out yet?

**Bokuto:** not yet!!!!! still a bit damp. :( but its better than yesterday!!

**Akaashi:** That’s good. Just keep an eye on his moisture.

**Bokuto:** [IMG2008024]

 **Bokuto:** 2 handsum lads just vibin ;P

**Akaashi:** I didn’t think it was possible for your hair to not be spiked up.

**Bokuto:** hahaha i usually look like a snake plant rite???

**Akaashi:** You’ve really become quite the plant expert. I’m so proud.

**Bokuto:** all thanks 2 ur invaluable wisdom sensei 

* * *

Of course, Bokuto immediately has to buy a snake plant. He knows he turned it down the first time Akaashi showed it to him, but now it has more _significance._ Now, it’s _special._

Akaashi must be able to read his mind, because the second he brings the snake plant to the counter, he smirks up at him. “Changed your opinion about the snake plant, I see. Is it because you can relate to it more now?”

Bokuto laughs. “It’s grown on me! He’s not so bad, once you look at him for a little while!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Akaashi says, stroking down one of the leaves fondly. “I think it made a pretty good first impression on me.”

The snake plant is literally God’s gift to earth. Nothing can change Bokuto’s mind.

* * *

 **Bokuto:** [IMG2008074]

 **Bokuto:** hey Akaashi, what plant is this????

**Akaashi:** It’s a lipstick plant. The Mona Lisa variety, if I had to guess.

**Bokuto:** it’s pretty!!! i just realized that none of my boys have flowers :(

**Akaashi:** We can always find you something with flowers the next time you come in.

**Bokuto:** :) :) :) :) :)

* * *

“Akaashi, I don’t know how you can get any work done here,” Bokuto says, burying his face deeper inside the plant and taking a big whiff. “I would never take my face out of this thing if I had a choice.”

Akaashi laughs as he rounds the counter, prepared to add Bokuto’s newest plant child to his receipt. “Some of us can smell it _without_ sticking our face inside it.”

Bokuto comes up for air and squints suspiciously at him. “Can you tell the smell of flowers apart?”

Akaashi shrugs. “There are certainly some that have a more distinct smell than others. It’s not too hard to pick those out.”

“And flowered jasmine is one of those?”

“It’s one of my favorite scents,” Akaashi says.

“Really?” Bokuto looks back at the plant with new eyes. He suddenly appreciates it even _more,_ which is crazy because he was already prepared to spend the rest of his life inside of it. “It’s my favorite too!”

Akaashi tsks at him, a teasing sort of chide. “There are so many other plants that you haven’t smelled yet just in this shop. How can you be sure it’s your favorite?”

Bokuto delicately runs the tip of his pinky over the soft, white petals and thinks about how the second Akaashi pointed it out to him, he knew he had to have it. He took one look at it’s quiet but striking beauty and he knew that if Akaashi was a flower, he would be this one. And when Akaashi told him that they symbolize beauty and modesty, he knew that he was right.

“I can just tell.”

* * *

When he gets home, he decides to put the flowered jasmine right next to Akihiko. It feels fitting, for the plant that most resembles Akaashi to sit right next to the plant that Akaashi grew himself. 

He looks around his apartment and can’t help but smile when he sees all of the greenery. Kaibutsu-kun is sitting in the corner where he can get more indirect sunlight, looking strong and healthy once more. His snake plant (named Daisho, much to Kuroo’s chagrin) sits on the end table by the couch. He has a row of tiny succulents sitting on the window-sill, all given names of his teammates based on which one they most resembled (the fussiest is Atsumu, the spikiest is Kuroo, the most stoic looking one is Omi, and the perfect baby angel is Hinata). And then there’s the lone girl of the family, an African lilac named Himiko that Akaashi special ordered for him after he saw a picture online and fell in love. Each of them sit in their own little pots, specially decorated (aka fingerpainted) by Bokuto’s own hands and bearing their name in bold black paint.

His tiny apartment is starting to look more and more like a greenhouse every day. He’s actually really happy about it.

He sits down in front of his latest purchase and strokes at its leaves. He wonders if Akaashi’s fingers would feel just as soft. He presses a gentle kiss to one of the petals.

“Keiji,” he whispers. It feels almost dirty, saying his name like this, and he feels his face go hot. “Would it be weird if I named you Keiji?”

The plant doesn’t say anything. They never do.

“It’s just the perfect name,” he says, trying to reason with it. “I mean — a pretty name for a pretty plant. And I probably won’t get another reason to say it, right?”

The plant is silent. But the longer he looks at it, the more perfectly it resembles Akaashi.

It’s not like Akaashi needs to know. After all, he doesn’t know the names of all of his succulents. And Bokuto is sure to buy even _more_ plants, so at some point, Akaashi will surely forget their individual names anyways.

“It’s settled then,” Bokuto decides, reaching for the black paint to make it official. “Keiji.”

* * *

It’s about two weeks (and five new plants plus six bouquets) later when Bokuto finally gets the courage to ask Akaashi the question that’s been burning inside him for what feels like a million years.

The bell above the door hasn’t even stopped ringing before Bokuto nearly screams, “Akaashi, will you come to my next game?”

A mother holding a squirming toddler blinks at him. Akaashi looks similarly taken aback. The squirming toddler doesn’t even spare him a glance.

“Oh, sorry,” he says awkwardly. He thought that once he got the words out, all of his mounting anxiety would leave him in a rush, but it just buries itself further in his gut. “I’ll, uh — I’ll just—”

He scurries over to the complete opposite side of the shop to hide and pretends to look at one of the hanging plants. It’s a small shop, so it’s not the best escape plan, but there are so many metal shelves and plants that he’s mostly covered. Hopefully, Akaashi won’t be able to see how completely red his neck and ears have become.

Bokuto has rarely seen another customer in _Birds of a Flower._ The one time he asked Akaashi about it, he said it was because it wasn’t really a big season for flowers, and most people ordered stuff online nowadays anyway. So Bokuto has never really had to deal with other people taking up Akaashi’s attention. He knows that Akaashi runs a business, and that business can’t be _all_ about talking to Bokuto about the meaning of plants or his favorite movies or how he takes his tea, but he’s been so _spoiled_ as the sole recipient of Akaashi’s attention so far that he doesn’t know how to be patient. He wants Akaashi’s eyes on _him._

He holds his tongue as best he can and instead stares at a hanging plant that is apparently called a string of nickels. It’s actually a pretty cool looking plant. He can totally picture it hanging in the corner of the living room. He wasn’t really intending to buy anything while he was here, but maybe—

“Bokuto-san.” Bokuto nearly jumps as he spins around, even though he realistically knew that Akaashi had to be nearby. “Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

Bokuto takes a cursory glance around the shop and finds it empty. The woman must have left while he was distracted. All of Akaashi’s attention is back on him.

He grins. “No worries! I got to meet this funky dude while I waited, so it wasn’t all bad!”

Akaashi smiles. He has his hands clasped behind his back, which Bokuto has learned means that he’s feeling a bit shy. He’s about to ask what’s wrong when Akaashi says, “You asked me something, when you first came in.”

The anxiety comes back full force. He really wishes that the woman hadn’t ruined his big announcement, because now he has to work up the nerve all over again.

“You said you have a game coming up?” Akaashi prompts, clearly trying to help.

“Yeah!” Bokuto tries to pull up all the excitement of Akaashi coming to one of his games and squash down all the anxiety of him saying no. “We have a game Friday night! I was wondering if you’d wanna come? I can get you in for free, so you don’t even have to worry about buying tickets or anything!”

Akaashi’s smile looks tightly pursed, like he’s trying not to let any emotion come through. Bokuto can’t tell if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. “Wow. Free tickets? You must be pretty important.”

Bokuto has always been terrible at discerning when people are flirting with him, but this feels like flirting. Is Akaashi _flirting?_ With _him?_ God, please let it be flirting.

He decides to test the waters with a teasing, “Oh, totally! I’m a pretty big deal, so you can get a lot of cool perks by rolling with me, baby.” He crosses his ankles and stretches out an elbow to lean against one of the metal shelves, but he doesn’t think about the fact that it’s holding a bunch of plants. He feels his elbow connect with a pot and then watches in horrible slow motion as it teeters on the edge before plummeting to its death. Bokuto has to jump back to barely avoid getting his feet smashed when the pot slams against the floor, bursting into a dozen pieces. Bokuto feels his entire heart dive into his stomach.

“Shit, shit, I’m sorry!” Bokuto gets down on his knees and frantically tries to scoop the clumps of soil back together, like that will somehow save the plant he just brutally murdered. “I’m so, so sorry, Akaashi, I — I can pay for it! And I’ll clean everything up! I’m so sorry, I’m such—”

He’s so busy trying to gather soil that he doesn’t see Akaashi kneel down until there are suddenly hands against his own. Pale fingers wrap around the backs of his hands and stop them from moving, and it’s only when he’s completely still that Bokuto nervously looks up, convinced that Akaashi will be frowning or red with rage.

But he isn’t. In fact, his nose is all scrunched up and his lips are turned up like he’s trying not to laugh. His fingers are firm against his own, and just a little bit cold. Bokuto feels like the entire universe has shrunk down to just this moment, to Akaashi holding his hands and laughing.

“Bokuto-san, it’s okay,” Akaashi says around a laugh. “This is a resilient plant. It just needs to be repotted and it’ll be good as new.”

There’s an instant wash of relief. His shoulders actually relax now that it’s confirmed that he’s no plant murderer. Akaashi still hasn’t let go of his hands.

“Fuck, I’m — that was supposed to be cool,” Bokuto jokes, laughing at his own clumsiness. “I was supposed to look super smooth and awesome right then and I totally messed it up.”

Akaashi laughs, high and sweet. It’s the greatest sound in the world. “Yeah, well. Cool is overrated.”

Bokuto snorts. “I sure hope so. Otherwise, I think I’m really out of luck.”

They laugh together, and the last bit of tension finally ebbs away. He turns his hands over so that he can squeeze Akaashi’s fingers. A quiet _thank you._

“I’d really, really like to come to your game, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi whispers, biting down on his lip. “I want to watch you play.”

Bokuto barely resists the urge to kiss him right there. It’s difficult too, with his lips looking all pink and curved up so lovely. The only things holding him back are the shards of destroyed pottery between them.

“I want you to watch me too,” he says, perhaps a bit too honestly. “I promise I look way cooler on the court than I do in your shop.”

Bokuto could really get used to the sound of Akaashi’s laugh — even if it’s at his expense.

* * *

 **Bokuto:** u ready 2 see a cool guy in action???

**Akaashi:** I certainly am. And you’ll be there too, right?

**Bokuto:** mean mean Akaashi!!!!!! >:(

**Akaashi:** Hey, you take a shot at my pots, I get to take a shot at your ego. Only seems fair.

**Bokuto:** :( :( :( not nice Akaashi!!!!

 **Bokuto:** did u get the ticket ok???

**Akaashi:** Yes, thank you. I’m seated now.

 **Akaashi:** I’m excited to see you play, Bokuto-san.

 **Akaashi:** Good luck.

* * *

Bokuto has never felt so focused in his entire life. He can feel each bead of sweat as it slides down his face, can feel the sting radiating out towards the edges of his palm. He can hear his own heartbeat loud in his ears, can hear every breath he takes. He’s nearly convinced that he can hear the whirring of the fans vibrating in the ceiling.

His shoes squeak against the floor as he takes a running leap. The whole world slows down. He barely even spares Atsumu a glance, because he can _feel_ where the ball will be. He can sense it, like he can sense the tension in the crowd or the exhaustion in his calves or the desperation in Hinata’s last receive. He can see across the net so clearly, that he almost thinks he can see the sweat lining their setter’s brow.

It all becomes so simple. Like there’s only one course of action that makes sense, and all he has to do is execute it. So, he does.

He slams the ball down so hard that the sting in his palm doesn’t even register before the sound of it hitting the floor echoes out. He can see them diving for it, but their bodies haven’t even reached the floor before the ball does.

The whistle blows. Behind him, he can hear Hinata whooping and hollering like they just won the Olympics. The noise of the crowd is so overwhelming that he’s surprised that he can even hear himself think. 

He pumps his fist in the air and whirls around, looking back towards the stands. He can hear the people screaming, can feel their heat and their energy and their love, but the stands are completely empty except for Akaashi. He’s on his feet, clapping his hands together and smiling. Bokuto can see his eyes as clearly as if he was standing in front of him, and they are wide and filled with stars.

* * *

“Well, if it isn’t our favorite florist,” Kuroo says as he stretches out to touch his toes. They’re in the waiting area doing their cool down stretches, except for Bokuto, who ignored his coach’s reprimands to instead run out and find Akaashi. Some things are worth getting in trouble for. “Nice to see you again, Akaashi. Bo, get your ass down here and do your cool down stretches already. Coach is gonna have a conniption if you keep running off like that.”

Akaashi huffs a little laugh and waves as Bokuto begrudgingly goes over and plops down on the floor. “Hello again, Kuroo-san. Congratulations on your win.”

“It’s about time we all met the famous Akaashi, don’t you think?” Atsumu chimes in, stretching his arm over his head and pulling at his elbow. “I’m a big fan of your work. Such a big fan, in fact, that I’d say it’s covering more than half my apartment.”

Kuroo’s laugh is loud and obnoxious as a donkey. Bokuto immediately wants to grab Akaashi and get him out of there. He has no idea why he thought it was a good idea to introduce him to his team.

“I like your arrangements!” Hinata pipes up, hoping up to his feet and moving to stand next to Akaashi. Bokuto suddenly wishes that he had waited until after his stretches to find Akaashi so that he could join them. “Oooh, did you bring flowers? They’re so pretty!”

Bokuto’s head snaps up because — what? He didn’t notice any flowers. But sure enough, when he looks down at Akaashi’s hands, he’s holding a bouquet. He must have been so excited when he first saw Akaashi, asking over and over _hey did you see? Akaashi did you see me?,_ that he missed the bouquet entirely.

He feels a sudden possessiveness twist up in his gut. Like he wants to shove Hinata away and pull Akaashi out of the room, so he’s the only one who gets to see the flowers, because they _have_ to be for him, right? Akaashi meant to give them to _him,_ not the team but _him,_ and so he should be the only one who gets to see it.

Bokuto can’t help but watch on in envy as Hinata peers down at the flowers. Not even Kuroo kicking at his foot can make his pouting stop.

“Akaashi-san, what’s this one?” Hinata asks, pointing down at a tall green stem covered in little pink circular flowers. “What’s it mean?”

“It’s a heather. It represents good luck.”

_Akaashi wished me good luck. He wanted me to do well._

“And this one?”

Akaashi’s cheeks grow steadily pink. He peeks over at Bokuto. He half expects Akaashi to look away when their eyes connect, but he just keeps looking at him as he says, “It’s a Peruvian lily. They signify friendship and devotion.”

Bokuto nearly chokes on his own tongue. It feels like there’s a rock lodged in his throat, and no air can get through.

_Akaashi thinks we’re friends. Akaashi just said he’s devoted to me._

“Aw, they’re so pretty!” Hinata practically squeals, completely unaware of how Bokuto is close to passing out. “What about this one? I like this one a lot.”

Akaashi doesn’t even look down at the bouquet. There’s only one more flower it could be, after all, so he doesn’t have to. Instead, he just keeps looking at Bokuto. He gives him a gentle smile. Then, he says, “It’s an iris. They denote a great admiration and respect.”

_Akaashi admires me._

_Holy shit, Akaashi admires me._

“Waaahh, Bokuto-san! You got such a cool bouquet!” Hinata yells, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Ahh, Akaashi-san! Bokuto-san gave me one of your bouquets, but he never told me what it meant. If I show you a picture, can you translate?”

Akaashi finally tears his gaze away. Bokuto takes a breath for the first time in what feels like hours. Beside him, Kuroo snickers.

_Akaashi admires me._

_Akaashi admires me._

_Akaashi admires me._

* * *

**Bokuto:** hey hey Akaashi b honest w me. did u think i looked cool 2nite???

**Akaashi:** You should be resting, Bokuto-san. Sleep is important, especially after a game.

**Bokuto:** Akaaaaasshiiiiii :(

 **Bokuto:** just tell me. were u impressed?

**Akaashi:** Yes, Bokuto-san. I was really very impressed.

 **Akaashi:** You looked like a star.

**Bokuto:** wow. u really think so???

**Akaashi:** I do.

* * *

The first thing he sees when he stumbles out of his bedroom the next morning is the bouquet, sitting perfect and pretty in his best vase (the one his mother bought him when he first moved out because supposedly _everyone needs a nice vase_ ) on the kitchen table, waiting just for him. He grins at it dopely, resting his elbows on the table and cupping his chin in his hands to stare at it like a love sick teenager.

Hinata wasn’t lying when he said it was a cool bouquet. In fact, he probably undersold it. The colors? Gorgeous. The smell? Ravishing. The arrangement? Inspired. The message?

_Akaashi admires me._

It’s definitely the greatest bouquet to ever exist.

Bokuto hasn’t even had his morning coffee yet, but he’s already reaching for his laptop and sitting down to research. He’s going to figure out a way to preserve these flowers forever, even if it kills him.

* * *

Bokuto rides a high for the next week and a half. He feels like he’s floating on top of the world. Every day after practice, he finds himself obediently bouncing his way back to _Birds of a Flower,_ humming or whistling like the lead in a romantic comedy. Akaashi always greets him with his open smile, warm and affectionate, and it feels like their relationship has changed, even if they haven’t really talked about it.

He doesn’t think anything could possibly kill his mood. Even when the bouquet Akaashi gave him starts to wilt, he stays even keeled. He just gathers the flowers into groups, ties some string around the stems, and then hangs them upside down from a hanger. He watches the tutorial on how to dry flowers at least a dozen times to make sure he got it right.

But then he is suddenly faced with the realization that he’s about to go out of town for two weeks for a tournament. And while that would normally leave him in even _higher_ spirits, it really, really doesn’t this time.

“I’m so _stupid,”_ Bokuto groans, throwing himself across his bed. “I’m the stupidest person alive.”

“Hey, get up, I’m not packing your shit for you,” Kuroo says, throwing a shirt in his face. Despite this, he continues folding clothes and dutifully putting them in Bokuto’s suitcase.

“I should have said something after the game,” Bokuto says, his voice coming out muffled through the shirt. “That was such a clear and open invitation to ask him out, and I _blew_ it. Now I’m going away for two weeks and he’s going to forget all about me.”

“Oh yeah,” Kuroo says, snatching the shirt off Bokuto’s face to fold it back into the suitcase. “I bet in those two weeks, another weirdo with stupid hair is gonna start loitering in his shop, and they’ll fall madly in love and get married and he won’t even remember your name.”

Bokuto kicks out his feet and whines. “But what if he does! What if someone swoops in while I’m gone and I miss my chance! I’m so stupid, stupid, _stupid.”_

Bokuto is saved from a full blown spiral by Kuroo collapsing on top of him and promptly pushing all the air out of his lungs. Kuroo rests his elbows on either side of Bokuto’s head and looks down at him with a face that can only be described as supremely unimpressed.

“Bo, he basically got you a bunch of flowers that said _I want to marry you and have all your annoying babies._ I think he’ll survive two weeks without you,” Kuroo says, reaching down to flick his nose. “If you’re really worried about it, you can just tell him now.”

“What, and then leave right after?” Kuroo’s mouth twists up in a frown, and Bokuto knows he doesn’t have to argue the point much. It’s pretty clearly a bad idea.

“I mean, you have his number. Just keep texting him like usual.” When Bokuto makes a face at him, Kuroo flicks his nose again. It’s actually kind of starting to hurt, which is annoying in its own right. “And don’t say you only talk about plants, because I know you don’t.”

“But the conversation always _starts_ with my plants,” Bokuto explains, trying not to whine and failing. “I usually start by sending him an update and then I find a way to make it about something else. There’s an _art_ to it, Kuroo.”

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “Well that _art_ is why you guys still aren’t dating.” That one stings more than the nose flicks. “God, Bo, just — just talk to him like normal. You talk to him nearly every day. He _came to your game_ and _said he admires you._ I’m pretty sure you’re okay to text him about your day without using your stupid plants as an excuse.”

“They’re not stupid,” he grumbles because he doesn’t really have a good argument for why he can’t text Akaashi like a normal human. It just feels like overstepping somehow, even though it seems like their relationship is _built_ on Bokuto constantly overstepping.

Kuroo scoffs. “You’ve spent a small fortune on plants instead of asking someone out. Sounds pretty stupid to me.”

Bokuto finally shoves Kuroo off of him, because he cannot accept any insults towards his children. He’s too much of a doting parent for that. “No, _I’m_ stupid. It’s not their fault.”

Kuroo laughs his loud hyena laugh, and it actually makes him feel a bit better about the whole thing. Not completely, but enough.

* * *

He’s in an airport in a foreign country when he realizes it.

The second he does, it’s like the entire world explodes.

“Oh my god, I’m the worst plant daddy in the world.” Bokuto’s voice shakes as he frantically reaches for his phone, desperately looking for someone who could possibly help.

“I cannot believe you just said _plant daddy_ with your human mouth,” Kuroo groans. “I cannot believe you would actually do that to me.”

“Kuroo, I _left my plants._ I didn’t — oh my god, I didn’t ask anyone to look after them. I didn’t even think about it,” Bokuto says, scrolling through his contact list and coming up empty. “No, no, no, Kuroo! They’re all gonna die! God, there’s so many of them and I _know_ some of them are going to need water before we get back and—”

“How did you not ask someone already?” Kuroo asks, grabbing Bokuto’s suitcase off the rack since he is currently too preoccupied to care about silly things like luggage. “Aren’t they like your children?”

It’s the worst possible thing he could say. Bokuto wants to lie down on the nasty floor of the airport and just die. He can’t believe he betrayed them like this. He’s the scum of the earth.

“Bo. Bo, chill out, I didn’t mean it.” Kuroo slaps his hands down against his shoulders and squeezes. “Don’t you keep a spare key under the rug?”

“Under one of the succulents by the front door, actually. Attached to the bottom of the pot.” He’d seen the idea online and it was too cute to pass up. It was also an excellent excuse to go back and see Akaashi.

“Whatever. Point is, there’s a key within easy access.”

“Well yeah, but there are a _lot_ of them Kuroo. And they all require specific things, and I didn’t write anything out ahead of time, so how will anyone know what—”

“A certain someone would know,” Kuroo interrupts, giving him a meaningful look.

“That is _so_ not in his job description—”

“If I knew what to do and I was around, would you ask me to do it?”

“Yeah, but that’s different, you’re my _friend_ so it _is_ in your job description.”

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “Okay, well Akaashi made it clear that he thinks you guys are friends, so I’m pretty sure that means it’s in his job description too.”

“But — but what if he — I don’t want to—”

“Oh my god,” Atsumu groans from somewhere behind them. Bokuto didn’t even realize that the rest of the team had congregated around them. “For the love of god, just ask Akaashi to watch your stupid plants already. This conversation is so painful that it’s actually killing me.”

“You know, I bet Akaashi-san would be even more upset if he found out you let all of your plants die instead of calling him,” Hinata pipes up. 

It’s the most effective argument by far. Simply the thought of admitting to Akaashi that he was a terrible plant daddy is enough to spur him forward. After all, there’s no way Akaashi would agree to date him if he found out that he murdered a bunch of plants.

**Bokuto:** AAAKKAASSSHIIAIIIII~!~!!!

**Akaashi:** Yes, Bokuto-san.

**Bokuto:** I HAVE A REALLY BIG FAVOR TO ASK

 **Bokuto:** BUT U HAVE 2 PROMISE NOT 2 JUDGE ME!!!!!!

**Akaashi:** Of course, Bokuto-san. What do you need?

**Bokuto:** IM OUT OF TOWN AND I LEFT MY BABIES W/O ANYONE TO LOOK AFTER THEM!!!!

 **Bokuto:** I HAVE A KEY UNDER A SUCCULENT BY THE DOOR.

 **Bokuto:** CAN U GO CHECK ON THEM 4 ME????

**Akaashi:** No problem. I’ll stop by after work.

 **Akaashi:** But really, Bokuto-san, you should plan ahead better.

 **Akaashi:** What kind of plant parent leaves their child behind with no babysitter? ;)

“Oh my god, he used a winky face,” Bokuto says, half in a daze. Kuroo has to grab him by the arm and physically drag him out of the airport. “I finally got a winky face. I can’t believe it.”

Kuroo laughs and shakes his head. “You are so fucking screwed, man.”

* * *

Akaashi is the most incredible plant babysitter in the world. It makes sense, since everything Akaashi does is perfect. And also since he’s a florist and all. But he really takes the cake with this one.

The next morning, Bokuto’s inbox is filled with pictures of his plants, all safe and sound and happy. Akaashi even sends little notes about the moisture levels. It gives him that same feeling he gets whenever he steps out of his bedroom first thing in the morning and sees them all waiting for him. It gives him a little pep in his step.

Akaashi continues to send updates throughout the week. Bokuto often finds them waiting for him after a grueling day of games or practice. He slumps over on his hotel bed and scrolls through the messages, smiling at all the little pictures of his plants. It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

It also serves as a perfect excuse to keep texting Akaashi all week. He’ll inquire after the plants, which gives him a perfect opportunity to ask about the rest of Akaashi’s day. Akaashi will ask about his, he’ll tell him all about the games, and then all of a sudden, they’re talking about their favorite old sitcom that they always end up watching when they stay in hotel rooms. It feels strangely more intimate this way, texting Akaashi at night when they’re both probably in bed. It’s like when he was a kid sleeping over at a friend’s house, and the whole world went quiet and the room was so dark that you couldn’t see each others’ faces, so you could tell the other person absolutely anything.

So he does. He tells Akaashi about how he used to get pretty bad mood swings when he was in high school, how he could throw entire matches by falling down so low that he couldn’t see the top anymore. He tells him about his desire to be dependable, about how he’s willing to give up being the best ever if it means being the best for his team. He tells him about how sixteen year old Bokuto could have never imagined that this is how his life would really turn out, and he’s so, so happy to be here now that sometimes, he still can’t believe it’s real.

He’d feel embarrassed about these texts in the morning, if not for the fact that Akaashi has taken to sending him other sorts of pictures. He’ll wake up, and there will be a picture of Akaashi’s vase of sunflowers and a brief _hope you have a good day._ Sometimes he’ll send pictures of his garden, of the things he’s growing. Other times they’ll just be pictures of the shop, looking like a wild forest with spots of colorful flowers. One time, he sent a selfie of himself next to a snake plant with a _it’s like you’re right here next to me._ Bokuto isn’t even ashamed to admit that he immediately saved it to his phone. 

It’s like they’re finally getting to look into each other’s worlds outside of the flower shop. Now he knows that Akaashi’s apartment is filled to the brim with books, with fully stocked shelves and stacks packed on top of coffee tables and bedside nightstands. He knows that he loves the color blue, if the blue blankets on the couch and the blue coffee mugs are anything to go by. He knows that he grows vegetables in his garden, for once growing something that is purely for him instead of the shop.

He wakes up on the last morning before he heads home and immediately grabs his phone. His vision is blurry with sleep, but he still taps straight through to his inbox, looking for a message that he already knows will be there. When he sees that he has a new text from Akaashi, he grins, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm so he can get a good look at it.

His stomach drops instantly.

It’s another selfie, the only other picture of himself that Akaashi has sent him. He’s crouched down over a plant, his nose buried in it’s white flowers even as his eyes peek back at the camera. It’s his flowered jasmine, and it looks perfect and pristine. It might even look better than when Bokuto left it.

And there, written in black paint on the rim of the pot, is his name: KEIJI.

Bokuto wants to punch himself in the face until he forgets everything, even his own name. He wants to bed to open up and swallow him. He wants to disappear.

How could he forget about his pots, all bearing the names of his plants? How could he forget that he foolishly, secretly, desperately named his flowered jasmine Keiji? It’s so painfully obvious, so weird and creepy and absurd, that he isn’t sure how Akaashi can bear to look at it.

He throws his phone across the room in a panic. As if that will somehow make the situation disappear, as if that will erase all of his stupid, _stupid_ mistakes — not just the pot bearing Akaashi’s name, but his forgetting to get a house sitter, his hesitance in asking Akaashi out sooner, this entire pathetic charade he’s been putting on for weeks and weeks instead of just telling Akaashi how he feels. His heart is like a caged bird, fluttering uncontrollably and desperately trying to find a way out — out of Bokuto’s chest, out of Bokuto’s foolishness, out of Bokuto’s life.

He rolls over and buries his face into his pillow. He pulls the hotel duvet over his head, blocking out everything else in the world. He listens to the rattling of his own pathetic heart and desperately tries to pull himself back up before he can get too low.

He’s so panicked that he doesn’t even see the text Akaashi sent along with that picture.

_The Keijis can’t wait for their Koutarou to return home safely._

* * *

The car is mostly quiet on the drive from the airport. Kenma, who came to pick them up and immediately switched into the backseat so Kuroo could take over driving, is playing some game on his switch, but he has the volume muted. So all Bokuto can hear is the whiz of other cars as they pass and the tapping of buttons from behind him. It’s dark and there aren’t too many cars on the road the farther they get from the airport, so there’s only the occasional street lamp and the glow of the car console to give off any light.

They haven’t talked since they first got situated in the car, so his voice feels like a slap when Kuroo murmurs, “He wouldn’t have sent a selfie if he was mad about it.”

The tapping noises stop for only a second, faltering, before they pick back up again. Kenma’s way of saying that he’s staying out of it. That they can talk freely, and he won’t listen.

“Wouldn’t you be freaked out by it?” Bokuto grumbles the thought that’s been bouncing around his head since this morning. “If someone you’d only known for two and half months had named a plant after you without even telling you?”

Kuroo goes quiet for a few seconds. It’s all the confirmation Bokuto needs.

“You have a plant named after me. And for other people on the team.”

Bokuto sighs and tips his head back so he can stare at the car ceiling. “That’s different.”

Kuroo goes quiet again. Once again, it’s louder than anything else he could say.

Finally, Kuroo sighs. “Bo, I’m gonna be honest with you. I would have been weirded out if the same guy came to my shop every day. Like I can’t exactly turn him away since he’s a paying customer, but I’d be like, what the hell is this guy up to? He can’t just be here for the flowers, so what does he want from me?”

Bokuto scoffs. “So I’m a creep is what you’re saying.”

Kuroo snorts, not unkindly. “I mean, maybe. _I_ would have thought so. But Akaashi clearly didn’t.”

Bokuto sighs again, running his hands over his face. “I don’t get what you’re trying to tell me. Can you just—”

“He means that you didn’t go about this the normal way, but Akaashi has been fine with up till now,” Kenma chimes in from the back, his tone sounding bored. He’s still clacking away at his game. “Sure, naming a plant after him is weird, but not any weirder than anything else you’ve done, so you probably haven’t ruined things as badly as you think.”

“Well said, babe,” Kuroo snickers, earning himself a sharp kick to the back of his seat. “Anyway, now that it’s all out in the open, maybe you can give the normal approach a try, hm? You know, ask him out for coffee. Tell him he’s pretty. Maybe bring him some flowers.”

He says that last part with a wide smirk and raised eyebrows. Kenma kicks the back of his seat again. Bokuto actually laughs, and something that’s been lodged in his chest all day finally loosens.

The normal approach. He can do that.

* * *

It’s late by the time he finally gets home, and he can feel the exhaustion in his _bones._ The past two weeks have been physically intensive, and that combined with the overwhelming anxiety of the day leaves him feeling drained. He doesn’t even bother hanging up his jacket; he just dumps all of his stuff in the entryway to deal with tomorrow. He flicks on the light.

His family of plants is waiting for him. Now that he’s been away from them for a couple days, he realizes just how _many_ he’s acquired over the past few weeks. His apartment is starting to look like a forest, with tall leaves of green stretching up towards the ceiling and patches of bright and colorful flowers illuminating what used to be a dull space. There was always a hint of sadness that came with coming home after a big tournament; after all that noise and energy and camaraderie, to come back to an empty and quiet apartment felt overwhelmingly lonely.

It’s not the same as having someone to welcome him home, but it’s _nice._ He walks around to each plant, dipping his fingers into their soil to check the moisture. They’re all perfect, of course, and some of them look even healthier and greener than when he left them. He smiles as he greets each one, making sure to tell them how handsome they are as he strokes their leaves and petals gently.

He saves Keiji for last. Part of him wants to ignore him completely, to be vindictive and withhold love from him. But it’s not his fault that his father is an idiot and a coward. So instead, he kneels down and places a kiss on the rim of his pot, right above where his name is painted in big bold letters.

“Hey, Keiji,” he whispers, taking a sniff at his flowers. It smells sweet and clean, like waking up on a Sunday morning to fresh bed sheets and a wide open window. “Ugh. Perfect as always, I see.”

He smiles at the flowered jasmine fondly. He gives one last pet to the white buds before standing back up and looking around. He tries to envision his apartment through Akaashi’s eyes, tries to imagine what he must have thought when he first walked in.

The overwhelming amount of plants, all recently purchased from _Birds of a Flower._ The flowered jasmine sitting in a pot with his own name on it. The flowers that he got for Bokuto hanging upside down from a hanger on the wall, in the process of drying so he can keep them forever. 

Bokuto was wrong. His apartment isn’t becoming a forest. It’s becoming a god damn _shrine._ It’s such a clear and overwhelming demonstration of his love for Akaashi, that he’s almost embarrassed to have allowed Akaashi access to it at all. Something like this should be kept private, secret. Sacred.

He lets out a sigh. Thinking about the Akaashi situation right now will only wear him down even more, and he doesn’t have the energy for that. So he pushes him out of his mind, says a final goodnight to his plants, and heads for his bedroom.

He’s shrugging off his shirt before he even has the lights flicked on. He kicks out of his pants and doesn’t even bother dumping his clothes in the hamper. Kuroo would call him an animal, but he can clean it up tomorrow. All he wants right now is to fall into bed and dream of absolutely nothing.

That’s when he sees it. There, sitting on his nightstand, is the largest bouquet he’s ever seen. It’s in a wide, crystal vase that sparkles wherever the light touches it. The sparkling vase only seems to emphasize the extreme burst of color, with swaths of purple, blue, white, and yellow. It’s like it’s the only source of light in the room, drawing Bokuto forward like a moth to the flame.

His hands are shaking when he reaches out to touch one of the flowers. It’s white and soft, but he doesn’t recognize it. He leans his face forward and sniffs. The scent is heavy, like a perfume, but it smells so sweet that his heart actually aches.

He’s petting through the flowers, fingering at the delicate petals in wonder when he notices a small card sitting on the table next to the vase. He expects a note, but it’s not. It’s more like a list.

 _Heliotrope, forget-me-not, yarrow, gardenia, lavender rose_ _-Akaashi_

His throat feels tight. He doesn’t want to leave the flowers, feels like he can’t, like there is some kind of gravitational pull keeping him close, but he forces past it to sprint back to the entryway and grab his laptop from his backpack. But he can’t resist it for long, and he goes right back to the bedroom, taking a seat on the bed as close to the flowers as he possibly can. His fingers shake around the card as he holds it, typing the names into google one handed.

Heliotrope. _Symbolizes devotion and a lover of light._

Bokuto’s fingers clench harder around the card.

Forget-me-not. _Represents true love, and says that they will never leave your thoughts._

It’s getting so, so hard to breathe. He thinks he might be crying a bit.

Yarrow. _Means everlasting admiration and joy._

He’s definitely crying now. It’s getting harder to type, to read the words in front of him.

Gardenia. _A symbol of secret love, often given to the object of one’s affections._

He’s been so stupid, so unbelievably stupid. He thought he knew it before, but now he _really_ knows the depth of his stupidity. All this time — all this time, and Akaashi felt—

Lavender rose. _A sign of love at first sight. One of the rarest, it symbolizes complete enchantment and deep adoration._

Akaashi loves him. _Has_ loved him, if the flowers are to be believed (and if he’s learned anything from Akaashi, it’s that one should _always_ believe the language of flowers). He can hardly believe it, even with the words sitting right in front of him.

Akaashi loves him.

_Akaashi loves him._

His laptop slides uselessly off the bed with a dull thump, but Bokuto pays it no mind. He falls back into the pillows, stunned. Nothing feels real. He turns over so he can look at his bouquet again, his eyes tracing over every curve of every petal. The smell is so fragrant that he can smell it from here, a scent that wafts over him and reminds him that _Akaashi loves him._

He falls asleep swaddled in the perfume of Akaashi’s adoration. He dreams of wide open back gardens with plumes of happy flowers, and Akaashi’s golden face tipped back in laughter, bright and warm like the sun.

* * *

Bokuto loiters at the cafe across the street for hours. His coffee, barely even touched, has already gone cold. He keeps staring at his phone, watching the minutes pass until exactly 11:59am. Then, he dashes his way over to _Birds of a Flower_ and nearly crash lands inside.

He quickly looks around the store. Empty, which makes sense considering Akaashi is about to close for lunch. He goes ahead and flips the sign at the door for him, changing it to read CLOSED.

Then, and only then, does he allow himself to look over at Akaashi. Akaashi, who is standing behind the front counter, looking perfect and lovely and like he’s caught between amusement and nervousness. Akaashi once said that he likes flowers because they help him express himself when words fail him, but he can really be an open book sometimes.

Well. Not all the time, Bokuto supposes. Sometimes the flowers are necessary.

“Bokuto-san.” His voice sounds a bit higher than usual and his face is already bright pink. Bokuto falls in love with him all over again. “Bokuto-san, what are you—”

“You’re on lunch,” Bokuto interrupts, because he has a _plan_ and he _cannot_ get distracted by Akaashi’s perfect face. “You should go upstairs and take it.”

“Oh.” Akaashi’s face pinches into a confused frown. “Are you — would you like to join me?”

“No.” Akaashi winces, and Bokuto realizes how that must sound. “I mean, maybe later. I just need to do something down here first.”

Akaashi blinks at him. Bokuto did not think about this part of the plan very thoroughly.

“You — you want me to go upstairs and leave you down here.”

“Yes,” Bokuto says, and after a moment, “I promise I won’t steal anything.”

Akaashi shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it. “That wasn’t really my concern, Bokuto-san. I just don’t understand—”

“Please? I promise it’ll make sense,” Bokuto begs, putting his hands together. “Just — go take your lunch. I’ll watch over the store. I promise I won’t break anything this time.”

Akaashi smiles at the reminder of Bokuto’s blunder, though he still looks uneasy. But eventually, after a few more seconds of staring at Bokuto like he’s trying to solve a math problem, he nods. He removes his apron, hangs it up on a peg by the door, and disappears through the storage room door with one last curious glance back in Bokuto’s direction.

Bokuto waits. He hears the thumping of Akaashi’s footsteps as he climbs the stairs. He hears a door open and then close. A click of a lock.

He’s alone now.

Perfect.

He pulls a crumpled piece of paper out of his back pocket and scans the list. He’s seen Akaashi do it enough times, so it almost feels like second nature to grab the small basket off the counter and head towards the refrigerators, his eyes scanning the small tags on the shelves for a match. Everything is neatly organized and clearly labeled, but it still takes him a few long minutes to find everything.

Once he has his flowers gathered, he drops the basket on the counter. There’s a roll of brown paper hanging underneath the counter that he’s seen Akaashi use dozens of times, so he easily cuts out a sheet. There’s a row of ribbons on the wall, and that requires a bit more thought, but he eventually settles on a simple brown rope. Then, he gets to work on arranging.

This particular step is one that he simply can’t replicate. He cuts the stems, just like he’s seen Akaashi do, but he has no idea how to make the colors work together. There’s so many of them and they’re all so bright, all demanding his attention, that he doesn’t know how to place them so that they all compliment each other. There’s one flower in particular that is hard for him to place, but he simply _can’t_ leave it out. He suddenly has a newfound appreciation for the work that Akaashi does, because arranging flowers is _not_ easy.

He hears a door above him open. Then, a voice. “Bokuto-san? Can I come down now?”

Bokuto swears under his breath. The design he has right now will have to do. “Did you finish your lunch already?” He quickly sets them down on the brown paper and starts to wrap them together, desperately trying to tie the string around them even as his hands shake.

Akaashi snorts. “If you seriously think I can eat right now, you’re crazy.”

“What do you mean?” Bokuto adjusts the paper so that it isn’t as crinkled. It always looks smooth when Akaashi does it, but Bokuto can already see places where it’s folded. He suddenly hates this paper with a passion. “Not hungry?”

Another snort. “More like I’m too nervous.”

Bokuto laughs at his honesty. It makes his entire heart feel warm to know that Akaashi is just as scared as he is. “Nothing to be nervous about, Akaashi.”

“Does that mean I can come down now?”

“One more second!” Bokuto goes over to the cash register and starts typing in the prices. Thankfully, there are so many repeat flowers and no price differentiation between colors, so it doesn’t take horrifically long. Once the total is calculated, he charges it to his credit card and shoves the receipt haphazardly into his pocket.

He grabs the bouquet and moves to stand back in front of the counter. He doesn’t want Akaashi to see him while he’s coming down the steps, so he moves out of the doorway. He straightens his posture, runs his hand through his hair to make sure it still looks good, and checks down at the flowers one last time.

It’s perfect.

“Okay, you can come down now!”

He hears the door close upstairs. Then, the slow and unsure footsteps of Akaashi descending the stairs. Bokuto can feel his own heart beating in time, like the whole world is simultaneously slowing down and speeding up. His smile feels shaky on his face, but he takes a deep breath and grins, because that’s the first thing he wants Akaashi to see — just how _happy_ he is to see him.

Akaashi tentatively steps through the backroom door, and when his eyes land on Bokuto, he actually freezes. He looks so, so scared, so unsure of whether or not he should be happy yet, and Bokuto _hates_ that he kept him waiting for so long. He should have told him that he loved him every day because it was _true_ every day. He just couldn’t find the right words.

“Bokuto-san?” Akaashi edges out of the doorway and inches closer, like he’s scared that Bokuto will up and run if he approaches too quickly. “Did you — did you just want to buy flowers?”

Bokuto’s heart is hammering so hard in his chest that he has to remind himself not to yell when he talks. “I already paid for it,” he says, albeit a bit shaky. “I wanted to buy you flowers, but I thought it would be weird if I got it from your competitors, but also weird if you helped me pick them out, so — yeah.”

Akaashi blinks. His lips quirk up, like he’s fighting a smile. Like he’s not totally certain that he should be smiling yet. “You bought me flowers?”

“Yes,” he says on an exhale, holding them out towards Akaashi. “A gift. For you.”

Akaashi’s small smile finally makes an appearance. It looks perfect and lovely and wonderful, and Bokuto’s hands shake as Akaashi takes the bouquet from him. He looks down at them like he’s never seen flowers before. 

“No one ever buys me flowers,” Akaashi says, laughing a little bit. “I guess because they think I’d be sick of them.”

Bokuto laughs politely. He’s waiting, waiting for it to click, waiting for Akaashi to realize—

Akaashi’s smile drops abruptly. He looks up at Bokuto, his eyes as intense and piercing as when they first met. It makes Bokuto’s stomach clench. “These — you—”

Bokuto can’t stop himself from saying it. He’s just too excited. “They’re your favorites,” he says, talking too fast. _Slow down._ “You said so, when I asked. You said these were your favorites.”

Peonies. Camellias. Lilacs. Buttercups. Simple and common and colorful and so unexpected from Akaashi, and yet so completely perfect.

Akaashi’s smile comes back, but it’s wobblier now. He laughs, but it tapers off with a sniffle, like he’s holding back from crying. “I can’t believe — I didn’t think you would remember. That was such a random conversation, that I didn’t even think—”

Akaashi looks down at the flowers again. The sun is shining brightly through the shop, and it makes the colors bounce back onto Akaashi’s face like a stained glass window. He looks unreal, ethereal. Like a dream.

“I don’t remember mentioning jasmine,” Akaashi says, light and teasing. He looks up at Bokuto with a little smirk, like they’re sharing an inside joke.

It’s as good an opening as any. “That’s because they’re _my_ favorite flower,” Bokuto says, swallowing down the last of his hesitation. “Because they remind me of you.”

Akaashi’s smirk falls away again. He looks cut open and raw, his eyes so wide and his mouth pinched tight like he’s waiting for the punchline. “Keiji,” he whispers, blinking quickly. “Your — your flowered jasmine. You named it Keiji.”

“Jasmine represents beauty and modesty,” Bokuto says, relaying information that Akaashi already knows because he’s the one who told him. “It means simplicity and affection. Keiji only seemed fitting, don’t you think?”

Akaashi’s lip starts to wobble. Bokuto is pretty sure that his isn’t faring much better. His voice is shaky with emotion as he says, “You know what the other ones mean, right?”

“Bokuto-san, I—”

“Pink peonies. They represent love and bashfulness,” Bokuto says, his voice near a whisper as he inches closer.

“Buttercups. They’re associated with light and joy,” Bokuto says, reaching out to touch the back of Akaashi’s hand where it’s wrapped tightly around the stems. “Magenta lilacs. They symbolize a passionate love.”

Akaashi gives a watery laugh, a hysterical kind of gasp. Bokuto places his free hand on Akaashi’s hip, pulling them even closer together. 

“White camellias. They symbolize adoration, and are typically given to someone you really like,” Bokuto whispers, leaning closer and closer until he can press their foreheads together. “Pink and red camellias. They represent longing for someone. They mean love, passion, and deepest desire.”

Akaashi looks up at him, his eyes wide and watery. With his free hand, he reaches up to cup the back of Bokuto’s neck. He releases a shaky breath and then pulls him in.

Kissing Akaashi is like drinking the sun. His lips shake and quiver against Bokuto’s, but the pressure is constant and firm. He can feel his breath, hot and desperate, puffing against his face, can feel how soft Akaashi’s lips feel, can feel the flowers crushed between their chests as Akaashi pulls him in more and more with the hand around his neck. Akaashi kisses like he’s dying, like he needs it. He kisses like a sunflower, desperately searching for his sun, reaching higher and higher until he can finally get what he wants, what he _needs._

Bokuto cups Akaashi’s cheek in one hand, using his thumb to brush away the tears that streak down. He forces Akaashi to slow down, to take his time, holding his jaw gently in place so he can kiss him how he wants. Akaashi whimpers, and Bokuto wants to spend the rest of his life drinking the sound up.

But eventually, Akaashi pulls back. He’s breathless, panting little puffs of breath against Bokuto’s wet lips. Their foreheads are still pressed together, the flowers smushed between their chests right under their chins. Akaashi is biting down on his bottom lip, but even so, his smile is wide and resplendently happy.

“Hey, hey, Akaashi. In case it wasn’t totally clear — I really, really, _really_ like you,” Bokuto says, his voice a hushed breath.

Akaashi laughs and tightens his grip on the back of Bokuto’s neck, rubbing their foreheads together. “Well, in case _I_ wasn’t clear — I really, really, _really_ like you too.”

They stare at each other for a second. Then, Bokuto throws his head back and laughs, because the whole thing is just so ridiculous and perfect and he’s so, so happy. Akaashi laughs too, burying his face in Bokuto’s shoulder, the flowers sitting prettily under his chin. It makes him look like the focal flower — the one that florists place in the center of a bouquet, unique and lovely, and intended to be the most important and most beautiful.

Bokuto wraps his arms around Akaashi’s back and pulls him closer to his chest, leaning his cheek against the top of his head; and he thinks about how in a shop filled with blooming roses and springing sunflowers and towering monsteras, Akaashi is the only thing he wants to spend the rest of his life looking at. 

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you think! also, come follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/afancyghost) and [tumblr](https://afancyghost.tumblr.com/)!


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